


Undiscovered Terrain

by battybatzgirl



Series: Of This World [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Everything Hurts, First Contact, First Contact AU, Frottage, Hurt Spock, Jim being adorable, Jim deserves so much love, M/M, Porn With Plot, Pre-Reform Vulcan, Sharing Clothes, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spock Is A Prince, Spock in a beanie, also they're teenagers, explaining earth, i hate these gays, kind of, kind of turns into the little mermaid, they're ruining my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:16:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battybatzgirl/pseuds/battybatzgirl
Summary: After an attack on his ship from a Romulan warbird, prince Spock crash lands on a nearby primitive planet, directly into the backyard of one Jim Kirk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO MY FRIENDS
> 
> A few weeks ago, I watched First Contact. Then, I read Scienta_Fantasia's amazing first contact AU "Spaceships, Private Jets, and and Minivans: How to Start a Global Incident in 5 Minutes Flat" and ADORED IT SO MUCH. Seriously that fic is amazing. But anyway I wanted to write a first contact of my own, so I slaved for 2 weeks and got about 31k out of it. So we're gonna be in for a ride, folks.
> 
> This AU takes place right before the first contact happens; duh, I know. But, context.
> 
> I'll add more tags as the chapters go up. Honestly at this point I'm just ecstatic it's done. Enjoy!

Spock did not enjoy breaking his daily routine.

Almost every aspect of his day was thoroughly planned, his time split evenly between studying, meditating, and doing rudimentary errands for his father. Though his sense of curiosity was not limited, he preferred to read about new elements than experience them directly. It wasn’t in Spock’s nature to go off planet, much less participate in what would be considered a useless flight in a shuttle. Such activities took away time from his studies.

This was an excuse he would use whenever Sybok would pester him to go out on such adventures. Though Vulcans could not lie, both he and his brother could see the twisted truth in that statement; Spock never needed any academic help. He was always farther ahead than where the tutors expected him to be, which in turn made Sybok push him even further to avoid his work.

At times, Sybok seemed to be the exact opposite of Spock, constantly telling him he needed to leave the grounds of the palace and explore to get a new experience. Sybok’s arguments were never logically sound, so Spock could easily best him. His brother favored the ancient ways of expressing emotion rather than controlling it, which made him a peculiar up-and-coming ruler of the House of Surak.

Perhaps this is why Spock—though a great deal younger than Sybok—felt the need to behave more properly than his brother.

Sybok had come to excepted this aspect of him and normally didn’t push Spock that hard. He knew Spock’s limitations, just as Spock knew Sybok’s. Though they were sired by the same father, they were born by different women, and it was clear their differences went further than just biology. Still, they were raised together by the same nurses in the same palace, and lived with mutual respect.

And while Sybok was known to uphold that respect, it never stopped him from testing Spock’s patience.

“Little one!” Sybok calls from the hall. Spock can hear his heavy footsteps approaching the study, and chooses not to look up from his writing as the door slides open. “Ah. I have found you.”

“I was not hiding,” Spock tells him dryly. Sybok makes a noise like a snort, and strolls deeper into the study.

“Behind the scrolls, you are. Hiding from your people.”

At this, Spock looks up and shoots an irritated glance at him. One corner of Sybok’s lips quirk up. “They do not wish for me to be in their sight,” Spock shoots back.

Spock knows only too well the taboo of his existence. True, his blood stems from a royal line, but the fact that his mother had been a servant has forever blemished him in the eyes of Vulcan society. He is the bastard son of an ancient line of rulers, only around because Sybok insisted to his father that he wanted a brotherly companion to go hunting with.

But Spock doesn’t do very much hunting.

“They will soon have to become accustomed to you,” Sybok points out, leaning on the side of the desk. “You are nearing the time of your coronation! A young crowned ruler of the House of Surak all of Vulcan will hold adoration for.”

Spock quirks an eyebrow and finally puts down his stylus. “You are clearly mistaking me for your other brother.”

“I have no other brother.”

“Then you have a poor conception of my personality.”

Sybok laughs once, the booming sound filling the air around the small room. This was how it often was: Sybok being loud and boisterous, Spock being quiet and cautious. Spock was often all-too aware that his every movement was watched carefully by those who believed he shouldn’t be part of the royal house, especially now that he was on the edge of his adolescent years.

But Sybok has always held a refreshing viewpoint, and though his methods were often unconstitutional when it came to their father’s wishes, he made caring for Spock a priority. He spoke to Spock like a person, not like an afterthought of society. Their bond was strong, something that Spock has been grateful for on more than one occasion.

Sybok puts his hand on Spock’s shoulder and says wistfully, “What a great benevolent leader you will make, little brother.”

Spock frowns. “Are you forgetting you are firstborn? I doubt I will be able to have the ability to rule at all.”

What Spock doesn’t say is that he doesn’t _want_ to rule. At least, not on Vulcan. If he could, he would be able to travel to different galaxies, acting somewhat as a diplomat like his father, but more as a researcher, cataloging the diverse cultures and sciences of other worlds. However, the likelihood of that happening was very slim, as it was not often he was permitted to leave because of his age and tainted heritage.

But he didn’t _need_ to leave. He was secure in the logic of this. His dream was just that, a dream, and it was a waste of his time to spend unnecessary time dwelling on it.

“Father is on a diplomatic mission,” Sybok tells him, abruptly changing the subject. “He will be obtained for the next few sun cycles.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “I _am_ aware of this. I’m not naïve.”

“Then let’s take a voyage to the next star system,” Sybok says, his eyes bright at the idea. “It would not take too much time. Father would not have to know, and it would get a worldliness into your head.”

Spock stares at him, debating whether he is serious or not. When he concludes that Sybok’s excitement is indeed genuine, he frowns. “Are you suggesting we steal a starship?”

Sybok looks to the ceiling, almost annoyed. “All starships belong to the House of Surak. We are not stealing if they belong to our family.”

Spock wants to point out this is probably the tenth scenario of Sybok trying to get him to go off planet in such a manner, all of which were unsuccessful.

“I know you believe that such an excursion is illogical,” Sybok continues as if reading his thoughts, “but consider how you have yet to have an experience off planet that isn’t directly related to diplomatic intentions. Is there not some part of you that wishes to explore the galaxy and make discoveries on your own? Where is that side of you, brother?”

Spock purses his lips. He knows Sybok is pulling the strings he believes can provoke a response. Still, Spock is aware of his place and is ready to tell Sybok no when his brother counters with, “This might be your last chance to explore without the eyes of the council watching you.”

He was right, Spock realizes. And perhaps there is a weak moment in his logic, or he has finally succumbed to the same emotional madness as his brother, but Spock considers it even further.

Then, he agrees.

~*~

Commandeering a ship is as surprisingly as easy as Sybok said it would be. In another reality, Spock can pretend he has the authority to be a high-ranking member on such a starship. Not a captain necessarily, but something close. But Spock shakes his head to quickly rid himself of a yet another thought that was illogical and would never become anything more than a fantasy.

The ship Sybok leads him to is a small one with only two decks; one for cargo, the other for a handful of passengers. It is labeled as a science vessel. Spock raises an eyebrow at his brother’s choice, but doesn’t question it.

“For you and your studies,” Sybok teases, climbing into the vessel’s top deck and settling in the pilot’s seat. Spock nearly gratifies Sybok with an eyeroll, but he is able to quell the emotion before it’s able to rise to the surface.

Sybok launches the ship, and Spock feels the pull of shifting gravity in his lower belly. The uncomfortable feeling is overtaken by the sight of his planet, shrinking away and becoming a small dot in the vast darkness of space.

Once they escape the gravity of Vulcan, Sybok begins tampering with the computer. “Where would you venture, brother? The Beta Quadrant?”

Spock shoots Sybok a wary look. “You know very well that is center of Romulan territory.” He pauses, then says, “If you intend to start an intergalactic war, I wish to have no part in it. Return me immediately.”

“I am not starting a war,” mutters Sybok, turning back to the computer. “You are too hesitant. Just like Father.”

“I am logical,” Spock shoots back. “You do not think through all of your decisions.”

Sybok ignores him and punches in coordinates Spock doesn’t see. The ship’s engines hum and it begins steadily speeding up to warp. Spock wants to ask where they are going, but is once again taken aback by the sight of the stars just outside the ship.

They travel for a few minutes in silence. Spock glances down at the computer, finally noticing the coordinates for the first time, and he feels a spark of anxiety.

“Sybok,” Spock says, keeping his voice steady, “this area of the galaxy is uncharted.”

“Then we shall be the first to discover it,” Sybok counters easily. “You can have a whole planet named after you, little one.”

Spock knows that Sybok knows that’s not how treaties between planets worked, but Sybok is trying to grate on his patience. Spock keeps his mental shields high, determined not to let his brother have the satisfaction of pulling emotion out of him.

“You are being—“ Spock starts to say _illogical_ , but the thought escapes him when he glances out the window. They are approaching a planet of a color Spock had never seen before. Sybok seems to take notice of his interest, and he pilots the ship closer.

The planet is a little smaller than Vulcan, and it has one moon in caught in its gravity. It holds color of green and white, but the surface is filled with bodies of blue which Spock can only assume is water. It looks so much different than the dark orange and reds of Vulcan’s desert landscape.

It’s…beautiful.

“Wouldn’t you want this all the time, Spock?” Sybok asks softly. “To explore and discover new worlds on your own rather than be hidden behind your texts?”

 _Yes_ , Spock immediately thinks. But he doesn’t have time to respond before their ship suddenly rocketed to the side, the force of the impact tossing both Spock and Sybok out of their chairs.

They both scramble to get up, but another blast causes the ship to shake and Spock topples back down. He hears Sybok curse colorfully enough to make their father’s ears bleed.

“ _Rihansu_ ,” Sybok spats. Spock heaves himself back up and watches with wide eyes as a Romulan warbird slowly shimmers into existence in front of them.

Ice shoots into Spock’s veins. He can hear Sybok working quickly at the control panel, but he is too afraid to turn his eyes away from the ship.

“Do you believe they followed us?” Spock asks.

Sybok shakes his head, raising the ship’s shields. “They would not have been that brash. They must have been stationed at this edge of the quadrant in a camouflage and were waiting for one of our ships.”

The warbird fires again, and the ship’s shields hold, but Spock can tell they’ve already taken a considerable amount of damage. He also is aware that out of all the ships for Sybok to steal, he took a science vessel, which holds very little energy toward shielding and weaponry to begin with.

Sybok hisses bitterly, “This ship was not designed for facing conflict.” Sparks begin to reign down from the malfunctioning machinery above, and Sybok turns to him. “Spock, I do not know if they are aware we are the sons of Sarek, but if they do and they overtake this ship, we cannot be captured together.”

 It takes a beat for Sybok’s words to sink in. Spock feels a new kind of chill run down his spine. “What?”

“We must separate,” Sybok says almost calmly. His face is different, his expression and tone of voice more serious than Spock has ever seen from his lighthearted brother.

“I—" Spock shakes his head in shock. “I will not leave you.”

“If the Romulans capture us, what would happen to our culture? They could use us to entice a war.”

Spock feels as if his mind is slowing down and everything else is happening very, very fast. “I cannot pilot a ship,” he points out.

Sybok stands, pulling Spock up shakily as well. “You do not have to. Each shuttle is wired with an automatic piloting system that will take you back to Vulcan.” Sybok more or less shoves him down the ladder to the lower level, where there is a small excursion shuttle crammed onto the tiny deck.

Suddenly, the situation they are in becomes very real, and Spock feels his heartrate increase tenfold.

“What about you?” Spock asks, alarmed. “You must leave, too. This ship’s shields will not hold.”

As if in response, the ship shudders once more. Spock can hear an alert going off from the computer system above them. Sybok doesn’t answer him immediately, grabbing Spock by the upper arms and manhandling him into the shuttle.

“I will lead them away from you,” Sybok tells him, still maintaining cool confidence despite Spock’s obvious panic. “This ship holds little weaponry, but it has speed. I can outmaneuver them and circle back into Vulcan space. By that time, you should have landed.”

Spock can only stare at his brother in disbelief. Despite everything, Sybok offers him a calm smile. “I will be fine, little brother. We will see each other again.”

Spock can’t find his voice and can only nod. Sybok offers his hand and Spock presses their fingers together. A wave of comfort and calmness washes over him through their bond, and Spock can only revel in it for a second before Sybok pulls away. Sybok closes the door of the shuttle, then hurries back to the ladder and disappears.

Spock barely manages to turn on the shuttle’s engines before it’s shot out of the ship. The pod’s computer comes online with a small beeping which gets drowned out by the thrumming of Spock’s heart in his ears. He punches in the settings for the autopilot, but instead of the vessel rocketing away, he has the strangest sensation of falling.

It’s then that he realizes they had flown too close to the green-and-blue planet, and the shuttle was caught in its gravity. One of the last things Spock sees before the ship starts careening toward the world below was the science vessel warping away, the Romulan warbird following close behind.

~*~

Jim Kirk wakes up to the house shaking. A sound like a bomb going off accompanies the phenomenon, and Jim jumps out of bed, immediately on alert.

The fighting was over, but that didn’t mean that the war had ended. The people around Riverside were the paranoid kind, brawl-first-ask-questions-later type, and Jim is no exception.

Hurrying down the stairs, Jim grabs the shotgun on the fireplace mantle and heads over to the door. Normally he wouldn’t bother with going for the gun first, but he’s been home alone for a few days and Frank is God-knows-where, so Jim figures he’d better be safe than sorry.

Not that Jim had actually ever shot a gun before; it’s more of as a prop in their house than anything. It belonged to his dad, and his mom kept it around because she could use it to frighten off the neighborhood vandals when Jim or Frank wasn’t home.

Cautiously peeking out the front door, Jim glances left and right before stepping out onto the porch, holding the gun out in front of him. He doesn’t see anything that looks out of the ordinary. But then the smell of burning metal and smoke wafts up to Jim’s nose, instantly making him gag. He steps off the porch and circles to the other side of the yard, and sees flickering red light with rising smoke in the neighboring field.

“Shit,” he mutters, a new kind of panic taking over. Commies or no commies, a fire in a cornfield is _definitely worse_ than whatever kind of bomb they tried to drop. Jim wastes no time as he runs back into the house, dropping the gun and grabbing the fire extinguisher from the kitchen before running back outside. 

Following the trail of smoke into the field, Jim slows as he quickly realizes this was not a satellite. The hunk of metal looked different than anything Jim had ever seen before. It was small and red, and shaped like a weird triangular prism than a circle. The front was completely crushed, smoke gently rising from that area.

Jim comes closer and raises the nozzle of the extinguisher, because weird satellite or not, a fire was still a fire and it would only be a matter of time before it caught. He hears a weird bang, but ignores it and sprays the front until it’s no longer smoking. The bang noise sounds again, and it isn’t until Jim notices a hand gripping one side of a hole in the wreckage does it hit him.

It wasn’t a satellite. It was a _spaceship._

“Holy fuck!” Jim shouts, jumping back and dropping the extinguisher. There was a spaceship right in front of him. An actual, real live ship from outer space.

 _And something was climbing out of it_.

Dimly, Jim realizes that he should probably be running away and calling the police or FBI or doing something other than just dumbly standing and staring, but he can’t look away as a foreign creature carefully untangles itself from the wreckage. It has two arms, two legs, and a generally human physique. But even in the dark, Jim can tell its torso a little too long and it’s skin a little too pale for it to look exactly like a human.

“Jesus Christ,” Jim breathes. Halfway out of the wreckage, the thing freezes, and suddenly whips its head up, its black eyes locking on Jim.

Jim feels every hair on his body stand on end and his mind races. Should he run now? Should he try to fight it? It was still half in the ship, so Jim could probably get a pretty good running start before it would come after him. But if it had some kind of alien super speed, it would probably get to Jim before he could even get to a phone—or the gun. He should have brought the gun. _Why didn’t he bring the gun?_

But instead of making a move to attack, the thing’s eyes suddenly roll back and it falls the rest of the way out of the ship, slumping facedown on the ground in a heap.

Jim waits a full three Mississippi’s before he rushes over.

Kneeling next to the creature, Jim reaches out, then hesitates. Maybe this was how it lured it’s pray before attacking. Pretend to be benevolent but actually be preparing to spring to action. But this creature just survived a freaking _spaceship crash_ , and Jim probably would have passed out too if he was in that situation.

Sucking in a breath and hoping for the best, Jim gently pushes its shoulder, rolling the creature onto its back. Up this close, Jim can tell that there is something dark pouring out of its side, and with a start Jim realizes it must be blood.

 _Alien_ blood.

Throwing caution to the wind, Jim crouches down lower and wraps the alien’s arm around his shoulders, using his other hand to grip its waist. This was probably the stupidest idea he has ever had, but if this thing is _hurt_ he can’t just stand by and let it die.

The creature weighs more than what Jim anticipates, so he more or less drags the thing through the field and back to the house. After hauling it up the porch and through the front door, Jim is sweating. There is no way he can get this thing up the stairs, and he probably shouldn’t even put it in a bedroom if it’s bleeding. He has no idea if this kind of blood can even come out of clothing, if not bedsheets.

Instead, he drags it to the bathroom, and drops it in the bathtub with his last bit of energy.

Jim sucks in a few pants, collapsing on the toilet. He goes to rake his fingers though his hair, but realizes he has that blood on his hands. Flipping on the light in the bathroom with his elbow, Jim starts when he notices the blood is dark green. His skin prickles as he quickly scrubs the blood off his hands, watching as the water turns a shade of olive before going down the drain.

Turning back to the alien, Jim can see it so much better now that it’s in light. It has black hair, cut straight in a bowl cut. Its clothes are gray and black, contrasting sharply against its pale skin in the artificial light.

The non-panicking part of Jim’s brain tells him that the creature’s robes look vaguely like a Jedi’s.

Jim shakes his head. Yep, he was definitely hysterical. He should go lie down.

 _But it’s hurt_ , Jim reminds himself, and he should probably work on stopping the bleeding. Not really knowing anything about how to stop wounds from bleeding other than what he has seen on TV, Jim goes to the closet in the hall and finds an older, slightly ratty towel. He goes back to the bathroom and wraps the towel around the creature’s too-thin waist, pulling tight and knotting it. The creature let out a soft huff of breath, and Jim jumps back in case its woken up, but relaxes when he sees it’s still unconscious.

This was…weird.

This was so, so weird. How was he going to explain this to his mom? What would happen if Frank came home and found this thing in the bathtub? He’d probably lose his shit.

Jim’s mind starts to run in circles, his anxiety peaking and dropping, until finally he collapses on the couch, completely exhausted. Not having the energy to trudge back upstairs, he closes his eyes, and lets himself fall asleep in the living room. He can deal with everything once the sun comes out.

~*~

When light begins to peer through the living room’s windows, Jim slowly begins to wake up. He’s confused as to why he is on the couch. Then for the second time in twelve hours, he jolts up, suddenly alert.

Last night—no, this morning—an alien ship crashed into the field next to his house. And an alien was inside of it. And it was alive. And it was the bathtub.

Jim scrambles up off the couch, and dashes the bathroom. Was it all a dream? He swings open the door and it met with the sight of a knocked-out alien still in a heap in his bathtub. Nope, not a dream. He’s unsure if he should feel relieved or frightened by this.

Jim sighs. He needs coffee before he can do anything further. Turning around and heading into the kitchen, Jim bussies himself with brewing a pot before coming to another realization.

He has no idea what this thing liked to eat. Or if it even needed to eat at all.

Biting his lip, Jim moves to the fridge. It wasn’t as stocked as it probably should have been, but then again, it was never very stocked. Frank was literally never home except for one or two days at a time, and his mom was in Montana helping with some scientist guy with an engineering project she had been commissioned for, so Jim had pretty much been self-sustaining for the whole summer. It changed things, however, when he had a visitor from another planet he needed to feed.

But maybe Jim can just ask what it likes to eat? Would it speak English? Maybe it had some kind of translator that would make it easy for both of them to communicate. Or, maybe it couldn’t even talk and communicated through clicks, like a dolphin.

But what if it didn’t eat physical food? What if it wanted to eat _him_ , or a cow or something?

Jim closes the fridge door. He really needed coffee.

The pot finished brewing and he poured a cup, finally feeling awake after his first sip.

Okay. Wounded alien in his bathtub. What the hell is he supposed to do now?

Like all Americans when met with an impasse, Jim turns to the world-wide web. He feels pretty stupid Googling _What To Do When An Alien Lands In Your Backyard_ , but he’s sure the internet has seen weirder questions. He finds this site that doesn’t look totally crazy, and reads through the article.

The website tells him things he already knows: don’t scare it, be friendly, try not to give it a bad impression of Earth. Jim sits back in the chair he’s in and a wave of nervousness washes over him.

He’s the first thing this alien will have direct contact with on Earth. He could singlehandedly give a positive or negative impression for the whole human race. It’s a lot to ask of a seventeen-year-old, that’s for sure.

Jim spends a little more time on the computer, but it’s overall just a bit of a waste. These people pose hypothetical theories about aliens and what they would do, but Jim is actually _in_ one. There isn’t going to be a guidebook for this, which makes the pressure to do something right become even more overbearing.

Noticing that a few hours have passed, Jim decides it’s probably a good idea to check back on his guest. Trailing back to the bathroom, Jim still finds the alien unconscious. Or maybe it had died?

Anxiety prickles at his skin. He spent all this time trying to figure out what to do with it when it was alive, he hadn’t even considered the possibility that it could have died. The longer he stared at the alien, the stiller and dead-ish it looked. Jim knelt on the side of the bathtub and touched the thing’s chest.

No heartbeat.

Jim’s mouth goes dry, but instead of immediately panicking he tries to find a pulse point on the thing’s neck. Its skin is cold—which doesn’t seem to be a good sign—but sure enough Jim finds a thumping pulse. It’s faster and shallower than what a human’s would be, but could be part of the whole not-from-Earth thing.

Up this close, Jim can see the soft rise and fall of the creature’s chest. Definitely alive. It’s then that Jim notices the alien’s ears; they curve upward into a pointed tip. Its eyebrows are pointed also, slanted up in what makes the creature’s face appear to be in a constant state of disapproval.

And maybe Jim’s still tired, but he thinks it’s kinda cute.

Because Jim’s curiosity is never satisfied, he reaches forward and pulls open one of the alien’s eyelids. He’s surprised to see what looks like a purplish membrane rather than the black eyes Jim remembers. It’s probably like a second eyelid or something like cats have—or at least that’s what he tells himself.

He’s about to move back when the alien’s second eyelid opens. Jim jerks away, staring an extraterrestrial in the face for the second time.

~*~

It takes a moment for Spock’s eyes to focus. He predicts he was be taken by a Romulan fleet, probably being held captive and used for ransom to start a war with his own people. Instead, when he opens his eyes, he was not greeted with instruments of torture, but rather something else.

A creature of a race Spock had never seen before was leaning over him. Its eyes are a startling shade, staring at Spock with wide bewilderment. Spock stares back, confused until he suddenly remembers.

His shuttle had crashed into this planet’s surface. The creature currently starting at him must have been the one to rescue him. And Sybok had either made it back to Vulcan, or perished in the Romulan attack.

 _Sybok_. He needed to find Sybok. While this creature had not yet attacked him, Spock was uncertain if it would harbor hostile motives. This was classified as a primitive planet, too young to experience intergalactic intelligence. The creature staring at him could very easily be considered a savage.

Spock glances down. He seemed to be in an oddly constructed vat that looked vaguely similar to the stone baths on Vulcan. He places his hands on both sides of the vessel, and moves to sit up.

Two things happen at once: the creature staring at him leaps into action, speaking at him in a language Spock did not understand, waving its extremities around hastily; and a pain, burning like a fire, made itself known at Spock’s side. Hissing, Spock looks down at the area to find that area of his robes singed and wrapped in a new kind of fabric which was white but quickly staining green.

The being above him puts its hands on Spock’s shoulders and gently urges Spock back down into the tub. Spock grits his teeth, determined not to show pain to what very well could be a captor. It continues to talk, jabbering off syllables that makes Spock’s head swim.

“I have no translator,” Spock tells it, his voice rough from pain. “I do not understand your language.”

It freezes and immediately moves back, kneeling next to the side of the tub and looking anxious. Spock takes this as an opportunity to observe its physical appearance, and is surprised to find it vaguely Vulcanoid.

Its eyes still strike Spock as being odd, because they are an iris hue he never thought could be formed. They’re blue, like water, but lighter than any shade of liquid Spock has ever seen. Its hair appeared as a strange color as well, yellowish and wavy. The creature’s skin was tan, almost like a Klingon, but not quite. Its ears were round rather than curving to a point, and its forehead was flat and soft.

Not a Romulan, then.

Spock noticed that while he was staring, the being at his side was staring right back. Spock wasn’t sure if he should feel comforted or apprehensive.

He takes a sharp breath and immediately regrets it, the pain flaring to an extreme in his side. A noise of agony escapes him as his hands clap over the wound. He could feel his body’s urge to go into a healing trance, but would he be safe if he did so? This was undiscovered terrain, and a poor choice could lead to his death.

The creature suddenly stands, his movements flighty and bouncing. He exits the room in a flurry, still loudly expressing something in that dialect as he goes.

This, Spock decides, will have to suffice. His eyes roll back, and he lets the trance take over.

~*~

When Jim comes back half a minute later with a glass of water in his hands, the alien has fallen back unconscious. Or maybe it had actually died this time? Anxiously, Jim presses his fingers to its neck and finds its pulse. Nope, still alive.

Jim sets down the glass on the counter, filled once again with curiosity. That thing—no, it wasn’t a _thing_ really, it looked too much like person for it to be a _thing_ —had spoken to him. The language sounded heavy and full of vowels and inflictions, none of which Jim was even remotely familiar with.

Jim scrunched up his nose. Should he really be referring to the alien as an it? Surely it had a gender. Aliens had genders, right? Wouldn’t that be essential in reproduction? Jim tilted his head and gave the creature another glance over. It seemed to have more of masculine features, with a strong jaw and thicker eyebrows. Jim could only guess that his assumption of the alien being male was correct. He’d have to ask later.

Speaking of asking. How would he be able to communicate with a creature beyond his world? Maybe even beyond his galaxy? That wouldn’t be easy.

Jim sighed, then took sight of the towel he had wrapped around the alien’s waist. He should probably change it to keep the wound clean. Also, to save the towel before it became stained too green to ever be washed out. Could alien blood be washed out? Would it react to water and catch on fire or something?

Shaking his head, Jim made work of carefully removing the towel as not to disturb the slumbering being. He replaced the binding with a new towel, and decided he should probably start washing things as soon as possible so the stains didn’t set. He was still in the clothes from last night which had the alien’s dried green blood on his shirt, so laundry definitely had to be done.

Thankfully, the blood came out in water. Jim only thinks it’s a little weird to see the kitchen sink water run green. (He was too afraid to put the towels and shirt into the washer in case the blood effected the water somehow.) But once he had hung everything over a few chairs to dry, he feels satisfied that he handled that crisis well.

Jim spends the rest of the day in a bit of a nervous haze. He keeps expecting the alien to wake up and attack him or something, which he knows is impossible because it’s too hurt to even sit up. But the alien stays unconscious for the entire day, which only adds to Jim’s nervousness about its wellbeing.

To distract himself, he tidies up the house the best he can, hoping it looks more presentable to a creature unfamiliar with Earth.

At the end of the day, Jim is exhausted again. He checks on the alien one more time. Still out. Should he bother going upstairs to his room? What if it wakes up before Jim and tries to burn the house down? Not that he actually thinks that would happen, but it’s still a possibility.

He decides sleeping on the couch again would be his safest bet. This time, Jim grabs his pillow and blanket from his room upstairs before settling on the couch for the night.

He spends the night dreaming of the stars and what kind of creatures lied beyond them.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim wakes up to the sound of the TV. For a moment, he’s confused. Why is he on the couch? Who turned on the TV? Did Frank come back?

Then, all the memories from the day before come crashing back. There had been a spaceship that crashed into the field! There was an alien, and Jim dragged him back here, and—

_There was an alien in his living room._

His eyes shoot open and he scrambles to his feet. The alien is kneeling next to the TV set, watching the screen with a blank face. It seems to notice Jim’s presence, and it quickly stands.

“A-are you feeling better?” Jim asks, instantly feeling stupid for doing do. It can’t speak English! This much they had already established. But how could he possibly communicate with a creature from another planet without talking?

Jim points at the alien’s side where the wound is. The fabric is still wrapped around it’s middle, but it’s no longer oozing green, which Jim takes as a good sign. The alien tilts its head to the side, the gesture vaguely reminiscent a puppy, not breaking the stare.

“Right,” Jim says awkwardly.

This is weird.

He moves to take the remote off the coffee table and turn the TV off, but the alien reacts almost violently and starts backing away.

“What?” Jim asks, startled. “What? Are you…scared?” The creature offers him no answer, his wide eyes not leaving the remote in Jim’s hand. “Scared of _this_?” He raises the remote to test it, and the alien backs up even further.

Jim raises his hands in what he hopes is a universal peaceful gesture. “No, it’s not a weapon. It’s just a remote. It won’t hurt you. Look, look.” He points the remote at the TV and shuts it off. The alien looks at the now black TV, then back to him. Keeping his one hand raised, Jim carefully places the remote back on the table.

The alien’s eyes follow the movement, then sweep up and down Jim’s frame. Jim offers a soft smile, keeping his lips closed in case showing his teeth would be taken as a sign of aggression. (He read somewhere once that was how chimpanzees started fights in the wild—not that Jim was comparing this alien to a _monkey_ or anything.)

Apparently no longer viewing Jim as a threat, it turns away and starts walking around the room. Jim watches as it slowly obverses each corner of the room, running its fingers across the peeling wallpaper. It stops when it reaches a light switch.

“Flip it,” Jim instructs from across the room. “That’s how it turns on.”

The alien turns to look at him with a blank stare. Jim mimes flipping it up, and after a second it seems to get it. It turns the switch and the lights in the living room flicker on. The alien’s eyes go wide, and Jim notices that its eyes are dark brown, not black.

It switches the lights on and off a few times, making a conclusion on its own. Jim slowly approaches, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Y’know, it might be more helpful if I knew your name.”

The alien ignores him, determining to leave the light on before moving to another area of the room.

Maybe it can’t hear? But no, it has those pointy ears, and it seems to respond minimally to what Jim is saying.

“Do you have a name?” Jim tries again, following him over to where it is now observing the fireplace.

To get its attention, Jim reaches out and touches its arm. The alien recoils, ripping its arm away and out of Jim’s reach.

“Okay, okay! I won’t touch you!” Jim pacifies, backing up and raising his hands again. “Um…I’m Jim.” He places one of his hands on his chest to convey this. The alien doesn’t move. Jim instead gives a weak wave. “Hi? Or greetings, or whatever?”

The alien’s eyes drop to Jim’s hand, and it raises its own in response. Only instead of waving like Jim, it spreads its fingers in a split motion. Then, it drops its hand and turns back to the fireplace.

“Oo-kay,” Jim mutters. Yeah, this was going to be harder than he thought.

Jim instead switches to a new tactic. “Wait here a second.”

The alien ignores him again, which works just as well. Jim hurries up the stairs to his room, making a beeline for his desk. He grabs a notebook that he used for biology last year and a pencil, then goes back downstairs. The alien has moved to the kitchen, now apparently fascinated by the fridge. Jim moves over to it and offers it the notebook and pencil.

“Can you write?”

The alien looks down at the notebook and tilts its head sideways again. Jim moves over to the counter and opens the notebook, aware of the dark eyes watching his every move.

Jim makes a big show about writing his name at the top of the page. “See? Like this.” He turns to it, and offers it the pencil. This time, the alien hesitantly takes it. He watches as it seems to weigh the pencil in its hand, then turns and holds it in its hand in a position like an artist would hold a paintbrush.

Experimentally, it presses the tip of the pencil down to the paper. Apparently satisfied with the result, the alien starts to write.

Jim feels a small thrill—there is an alien writing in his kitchen. He peers over the being’s skinny shoulders to look at the page, and his eyes go wide. Its writing up and down rather than side to side in a bunch of swirls and strange markings that Jim has no idea how to interpret. It’s then that he realizes the flaw in his plan.

“I mean, at least you can write,” Jim tells it, trying to maintain positive. Just because he can’t read an alien dialect doesn’t mean he’s given up all hope of being able to communicate.

Interrupting its writing, Jim points to the top of the page where he had written his name. “Jim,” he says slowly, like speaking to a child. He moves his hand to his chest in a repeat of what he did by the fireplace. “Jim,” he repeats again, watching at the alien’s eyes watch his lips as he says it.

“ _Gem_ ,” it tests, looking uncertain, and Jim beams.

“Hey, that was pretty close,” Jim says. “Try it again. _Jim_.”

“Jim,” it says, repeating the word correctly this time. The _J_ sounds a little too sharp, but an _alien_ just said his name, he doesn’t give a shit about the logistics of how it sounds.

“Okay, now you know my name. What’s yours?” Jim looks at the paper curiously. “Did you write it?” The alien only stares at him. Jim is reminded once again of how very much this is like talking to a child. He points to himself and says, “I’m Jim.” He points to it and says, “You are…?”

The alien glances down at his hand, then up at him, offering no answer. Jim drops his hand and nearly sighs, but then the creature speaks a garble of words. Jim has no idea if that was a sentence or its name, and his confusion must show.

“Jim,” it says, mimicking Jim’s pointing method and gesturing to him. Then its hand moves to its own chest and it says, “Spock.”

“Spock,” Jim repeats. “Is that right? Spock?”

The alien dips its head once in what Jim assumes is a nod. So, Spock it was.

“Well, welcome to Earth, Spock,” Jim jokes, smiling again.

There was just something about being close to Spock that made Jim’s skin tingle. It was probably the excitement of the situation. What other kid could say they met an alien the summer before they went to college? God, what a story _that_ would be to use at a bar.

Spock asks Jim something, but Jim shakes his head. “Uh, no? I don’t know.”

Spock looks at him for a moment before turning back to the notebook. Still holding the pencil in that weird way, he moves his hand rapidly across the page, and it takes Jim a second to realize he’s drawing, not writing.

The sketch is rough, but Jim soon recognizes the familiar triangular shape of Spock’s ship. The one that crashed.

The one still in the field outside.

“Oh shit!” Jim curses, leaping away from the counter. “Your ship! I totally forgot, c’mon we gotta go.”

Jim has no idea how he was going to move the wreckage of a space ship, but he has to do it before anyone in the area notices. He is already by the door and shoving on his shoes when he looks up and sees that Spock hasn’t moved from behind the kitchen counter.

“Spock,” Jim says. “Come on!”

Spock only looks at him, a small crease between his pointed eyebrows. Jim sighs in aggravation and walks back over to him. “You have to follow me.”

Jim still gets no reaction, so he steps backward and gestures toward himself with his hands. “Come here.” He awkwardly demonstrates what he wants by moving forward into his outstretched hands. Then, he points at Spock and does the same gesture, repeating slowly, “Come here.”

Jim watches as the recognition of what he wants clicks in Spock’s eyes. He moves gracefully away from the counter and steps over to Jim. Jim grins again.

“Let’s go get your ship!”

~*~

Jim, Spock learns, is a being that enjoys the sound of his own voice. Though he seems to know Spock cannot understand him, it doesn’t stop him from talking, chattering quickly and often in his dialect.

It tests at Spock’s patience. However, Jim did save him from his shuttle craft, so he supposes he can see past it.

Jim leads Spock outside the structure they were occupying, gesturing wildly as if to keep Spock’s attention on him.

Honestly. It wasn’t like he was a child who would be distracted so easily.

Still, the surrounding fields of what looked like crops intrigued Spock. Perhaps he could salvage a tricorder from the shuttle and put it to use categorizing this planet to take home. _If_ he will be going home.

At that thought, Spock nearly winces. He has no idea if the governing council even knows that Sybok and Spock were gone. He has no idea if their _father_ knows what happened. The Romulans could have shot Sybok down, or could have captured him and be in the process of torturing him right now. Every scenario Spock’s mind creates gets worse and worse, and soon he is chastising himself for being so illogical.

Of course he would be leaving this planet soon. To think otherwise was foolish.

Still talking, the Jim being walks into a crop field where the plants have been burnt. In the middle of the wreckage is the shuttle. Spock steps around Jim to get to it, striding forward with purpose.

The outside hull is broken—the Romulans must have fired at it, or it could be simply be damage from entering this planet’s atmosphere so abruptly. Spock would prefer to think of the latter, because it means that he was not followed. Circling around the shuttle once, Spock determines just by looking at it that it will not be able to fly again.

Jim hovers too close to the ship. Spock can tell he is curious, but it comes off more of an annoyance than anything. Pushing past him, Spock takes note of the hatch which is half warped from the collision. Grabbing at the edges, he pulls hard enough to make the weakened metal give way, and the rest of the hatch falls off the hinges, giving easier access to the pod’s control panel. The action makes the injury he still has on his side give a pulsation of pain. Though his trance had healed most of the wound, the skin was still sore. Ignoring the surprised gasp from behind him, Spock carefully climbs in.

It takes a few tries and a small rewiring, but the computer system finally comes online. The projections the computer gives glitch often and don’t seem to hold accuracy. Spock tries to do a scan of the surrounding space sector, but the system doesn’t respond to the command.

Spock purses his lips. At this rate, the only action he might be able to complete is to send out a distress signal and hope that a neighboring ship hears it. This could prove to be risky if the Romulans are still circling the region and were waiting to pinpoint Spock’s location to lead another attack.

However, it could also be the only chance he could have to make any kind of contact. Spock is still debating on whether he would be willing to sacrifice this planet to the chance of a Romulan attack when Jim pops his head in to the pod.

His blue eyes go wide as they take in the alien technology. Spock wonders if he is breaking some kind of diplomatic rule by letting a member of a species with lower intelligence stand this close to technology that was not of his world. Jim surprises him by reaching out a hand to touch part of the control panel.

The shuttle reacts to the foreign DNA, immediately flashing a self-destruct warning. Spock lets out a breath of frustration as he unceremoniously shoves Jim out of the shuttle and quickly climbs out himself.

Jim looks confused, speaking in lifting tones as Spock hurriedly tugs him back away from the pod. They get far enough away, and the shuttle explodes in a bright flash. Jim shouts in surprise, flinching back away from the noise.

Spock looks on at the burning wreckage and refuses to let his frustration break his shields. It seems his decision to lie low on this planet has been made for him. He can only hope that Sybok was in a position to come looking for him, lest he be trapped on this planet forever.

With Jim. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I write Jim or Spock learning something new, I just imagine them getting little stars in their eyes like in Steven Universe.


	3. Chapter 3

Jim’s pretty sure he blew up Spock’s ship. He doesn’t know how exactly, but that computer thing turned all red when he touched it, and then it exploded. But Spock doesn’t seem to be mad, so Jim isn’t going to add that to the list of things he has screwed up.

When they get back inside, Jim decides he should probably do something nice for Spock to make up for it. “Are you hungry at all?” he asks, heading back over into the kitchen. “I have no idea what you like to eat, but I bet I can guess.”

Jim opens the fridge and starts pulling things out at random, lining them up on the counter in a somewhat orderly fashion. Spock walks over, clearly curious despite maintaining an expressionless face. When Jim goes to get a package of bacon out, Spock’s nose wrinkles and his shoulders hunch slightly.

“What?” Jim asks, not moving. “You don’t like this?” Jim’s brain works as he processes Spock’s reaction. “You don’t like…meat?” he guesses. He glances down at all the food he has laid out on the counter—the majority being either fruits or vegetables, none of which Spock had a problem with. Then, it clicks. “You’re a vegetarian.”

Jim puts the bacon back in the fridge. “Okay, no meats. I can work with that.” He pulls out a carton of eggs. There are only a few left, and he pulls one out and experimentally offers it to Spock. “Do these freak you out too, or are they safe?”

Spock tilts his head, taking a moment to stare at the egg before taking it. Jim smiles. “Not making a face, that’s a good sign.” Spock turns the egg around in his hands before he accidentally crushes the shell. Jim can’t help but laugh.

“You’ve got a good grip, huh?” Jim teases. “I mean, you _did_ pull that door off the space ship. You’ve gotta be crazy strong to do something like that.”

Spock doesn’t reply but is starting to look a little bothered by the yolk dripping down his hand. Jim nearly kicks himself; he was a sucky host for alien life.

“Right, sorry.” He repeats the gesture he made to get Spock to follow him out the door from before to get him to move around the counter to the sink. “Come here.”

Spock does. When Jim turns on the faucet, Spock’s eyebrows twitch in interest. He mimes putting his hands under the flow of water, but Spock is already doing so, apparently fascinated by the water.

Maybe water isn’t readily available on the planet where Spock is from. Jim knows there is no way for him to ask this, even though it would be a cool thing to know. Instead, he moves to the cutting board and grabs a tomato, starting to chop it while Spock finishes.

“Here,” Jim says, offering Spock a chunk of it after turning off the sink. Spock doesn’t take it, so Jim figures he probably doesn’t know what to do with it. “You eat it, like this.” Jim pops the tomato in his mouth, and Spock eyes him warily.

“What?” Jim says around his mouthful, frowning. “You don’t want it now? No, that’s not it. It’s…something else?”

In response, Spock actually says something, raising his hands and barely shaking his head once. Jim’s eyes narrow, trying to piece it together.

“Something about your hands? You—you can’t touch things? No wait.” Jim runs his fingers through his hair and tries to remember exactly what he did. “You don’t _eat_ with your hands.”

Guessing this is correct, Jim pulls two forks out of the drawer. He hands one to Spock, who actually takes it this time. “Look,” Jim instructs, stabbing a slice with his fork and putting it in his mouth. Spock’s eyes widen slightly, and he copies Jim. It looks like he swallows it whole, and Jim briefly wonders if he has to explain the concept of chewing to an alien.

Jim works to cut up the rest of the fruits and vegetables, moving quickly from one food to the next. It’s obvious Spock is hungry, but it’s like he’s trying to resist immediately grabbing the food Jim offers him.

It’s almost like he’s trying to be polite, of all things. Jim just keeps putting more food in his hands when Spock doesn’t directly go for it, already trying to brainstorm meals he could make for the both of them to eat. He’d probably have to go to the grocery at some point—he needed to go soon anyway, and hosting a vegetarian alien was good as an excuse as any.

After they’re done, Jim loads everything into the dishwasher, aware of Spock’s keen interest. He seems perkier now that he’s eaten, which is good. Jim points at his side where the towel is still wrapped around his middle.

“Better?”

Spock looks down at where Jim is pointing and slowly unwraps the towel around himself. Jim’s eyebrows shoot up—his injury now looked like it had already scabbed over.

“You heal fast, too,” Jim notes. “Guess it doesn’t have to be wrapped anymore, but you should still keep it covered.”

Jim moves out of the kitchen and down the hall into the bathroom cabinet. They always have a high stock of Band-Aids in the house; Jim has crashed his motorcycle more than he’d like to admit, among other things. He finds a few large enough, and turns to head back to the kitchen but starts when he sees Spock already in the doorway.

Jim gets closer, holding up the Band-Aids for Spock to see. “I’m putting these on you.” He mimes putting the Band-Aids on himself for extra clarity. “I have to touch you, though, so don’t freak out like you did before.”

Spock only looks at him. Jim takes that enough of a consent as any. Being as careful as he can, he crouches down and applies the Band-Aids. He feels Spock stiffen, but he doesn’t wince or make any kind of noise like he’s in pain, so Jim takes it as a good sign.

Once he straightens up, Jim is at a loss of what to do now. He should probably actually show Spock around the house instead of just letting him follow Jim around everywhere.

“I’ve never given anyone a tour of the house before,” Jim tells him, his tone light as he steps around Spock into the hall. “Probably because the only people who come to Iowa are the ones passing through it. But I guess in your case, get stuck here.”

Jim knows Spock can’t understand him, but he finds it easier to talk to him as if he could. It was a lot easier than miming. He gestures for Spock to follow him, and he goes about taking Spock through the house. He shows him room after room, not sure if Spock is understanding anything or not, but Jim does his best to mime things out. And if that isn’t the most awkward experience Jim has had trying to explain a bathroom, then nothing is.

Upstairs, Jim realizes that Spock should probably actually sleep in the guest bedroom tonight now that he isn’t bleeding everywhere. He trails over to the room muttering, “I should probably clean in here, too.”

He opens the door and winces at the clutter. There were boxes of various sizes thrown around, which Jim had planned to use when he packed for college in the fall. (If he even got accepted, as Frank was keen on reminding him.) The room is small already, and Jim wades through the disorder over to the bed, Spock watching him from the door.

“You can sleep in here,” Jim says, laying down on the bed and closing his eyes to mimic unconsciousness. He sits up and points at Spock, then mimes it again. “You sleep here.”

He feels like a bit of a neanderthal talking like that, and Spock’s eyebrows are pulled down in what Jim assumes is offence for treating him like he’s stupid. But to his shock, Spock opens his mouth and warbles, “Sleep.”

Grinning, Jim stands. “Yeah, that was good! Now I know I could be a mediocre actor, at least.” He might be imagining it, but it looks like Spock’s mouth twitches up. But then a second later, his lips are relaxed again.

Not that he was staring at Spock’s lips or anything.

Shaking his head, Jim moves back into the hall, passing his mom’s office and her and Frank’s room. There was no point in showing Spock that—he didn’t want to mess anything up, anyway. Frank had a tendency to blame Jim whenever he couldn’t find something of his, even if Jim hadn’t touched a single thing in his room. Actually, Frank had a tendency to blame Jim for everything, but that was a different story.

Instead, he steps through his own room’s door and turns around to face Spock, throwing his arms up in a grand gesture.

“And this is my room! Not super exciting, I know. I’ve had the same bed since I was twelve, but what can you do.”

But Spock’s attention isn’t on Jim. He’s staring at the books that are scattered across the floor. Jim goes to pick them up, but Spock kneels next to one before he can take it.

“It’s a book,” Jim tells him. He experimentally flips through the pages, and Spock’s eyes widen. “You read it and turn the pages like that.”

Spock glances up at him with a question in his eyes, and Jim realizes that he’s waiting for permission. “Uh, yeah, go for it,” Jim says, nodding. Spock immediately takes the book in his hands, running his long fingers over the spine and pages. He flips it around, holding it up and down, the pages falling open.

“No, hold it like this,” Jim instructs, moving the book in Spock’s grip so it’s right side up. Their fingers brush together, and Jim has to keep himself from jerking back at the feel of Spock’s cold skin. Spock looks at him again, a different kind of question in his eyes, but before Jim can guess what it is he turns back to the book.

He tilts his head to a far angle on the side, like he’s still trying to make sense of the words the wrong way. Then, Jim remembers the way Spock had written in the notebook.

“Hang on.”

Dashing downstairs and grabbing the notebook Spock had written in where it had been left on the kitchen counter, Jim comes back up the stairs and sits down next to Spock on the floor. He holds up the page with Spock’s writing next to the book.

“You write like this,” he says, trailing his fingers down the strange symbols Spock wrote. Then, he reaches over and traces a line of text from the book. “We write across, like this.”

Spock’s lips purse and he says something, ending the phrase with Jim’s name. Jim’s eyebrows raise but he shakes his head. Spock looks slightly exasperated when he repeats whatever he said and taps the notebook with his fingers.

“Oh, you want to write? Sure.” Jim hands him the notebook and quickly snags a pencil off his desk to give him. Spock flips to a new page in the notebook, but instead of writing like Jim was expecting, he starts to draw.

Curious, Jim watches over his shoulder as his hands move expertly across the page. Spock moves in a way that was slightly unsettling—he was incredibly graceful, almost like he didn’t fidget or make a gesture that wasn’t carefully calculated. Jim almost wishes he could just watch Spock move, but that was a little creepy, even for him.

Spock finishes his drawing and shows it to Jim. It looks like a scroll, something Jim has only seen of art in textbooks. “Do you write on scrolls? I guess that makes sense since you write up and down.” Then, Jim sits back and considers something. Spock was obviously perceptive and smart; Jim imagines he spends a lot of time around different scrolls and writings. He wondered if Spock was some kind of scribe—but then what had caused him to crash on Earth? And how was Jim supposed to ask that?

“Spock,” Jim says carefully, “what do you”—he points at Spock’s chest—“like”—he gestures to his smile—“to write?” Jim finishes by miming out tracing a pen across paper. Spock blinks once, his eyebrows drawing together. Spock probably thinks he’s crazy, Jim thinks, but then Spock turns back to the notebook and starts sketching again.

This drawing is much more elaborate. At first, it looks like a bunch of swirls and confusing symbols. Jim has no idea if Spock is actually writing or if he’s drawing, but it looks like a combination of both. Jim bites frowns as he tries to make sense of what Spock is trying to show him—but then a dull light goes off in the back of his mind.

He gets up as Spock keeps working, scanning his bookshelf for the old textbook he thinks he might still have. It takes him a minute but he finds what he’s looking for. Jim brings the textbook over to Spock and flips it open to a page that has similar drawings.

“Chemistry?” Jim guesses. Spock’s eyes light up and he practically rips the book out of Jim’s hands. Jim chuckles, watching as Spock runs his fingers over the molecular element diagrams. “It’s from freshman year, so it’s a bit old, but same basic principle, right?”

Spock abruptly looks up and his dark eyes lock on Jim’s. For a second Jim feels paralyzed, trapped by the intensity of Spock’s gaze. But the moment passes just as fast, and Jim clears his throat and shakes his head, not sure why his skin suddenly feels so hot.

“If you’re into science-y stuff, I have a few of my dad’s astronomy books.” Jim is already getting up to retrieve them from the bookshelf, suddenly self-conscious. Jesus, it wasn’t like Spock actually _cared_ about the way Jim reacted to him. He wasn’t some girl who would nitpick his body language—he was an alien for Christ’s sake.

Jim finds a few of the books, pleased to find that a lot of them have pictures. He sets them in front of Spock on the floor and flips to a page that illustrates their entire solar system. Spock tilts his head, his eyes scanning the pictures of the planets before he touches the picture of Earth.

“Yeah, that’s where we are,” Jim says. Spock looks up and watches his lips as he annunciates, “Earth.”

Spock’s face is one of concentration as he repeats, “Earth.”

Jim smiles and nods. His accent is thick and strange, but an alien speaking English is something more than he could have ever imagined. Spock’s eyes are warm as they share the same sentiment.

Spock spends the rest of the day flipping through various books, pointing at pictures and silently urging Jim to explain things to him. Jim does his best, but eventually takes a break once it starts to get into the evening to make more food and clean up the spare bedroom. He stacks the boxes up in the corners of the room, making a clear path from the door to the bed. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

Jim has just finished when Spock appears in the doorway. At first Jim thinks he wants to go to bed, but he’s holding out the notebook for Jim to see. It just looks like more writing, and it confuses Jim for a second before he realizes that Spock filled up all the pages. He probably wanted another one.

“Right,” Jim says. “Uh, I think Ma might have some space notebooks in her office. Hang on.”

When Jim moves out into the hall, Spock follows. He steps into her office, digging around the desk for any notebooks that hadn’t already been cataloged with random engineering notes. His mom was a bit disorganized, but knew where everything was when she needed to find something. Still, it was a bit of a pain having to rifle through her clutter.

“Jim,” Spock says, the urgency in his voice making Jim whirl around so fast he almost falls into him. Spock is staring at a diagram hanging on the wall, and he speaks quickly while gesturing to it.

“That’s a blueprint for the project Ma’s working on right now,” Jim tells him, shaking his head. “It’s for some kind of a fancy engine a guy is building in Montana. That’s all I know.”

But apparently, that blueprint _means_ something to Spock. He mutters again to himself and looks back at Jim. Jim shrugs, feeling helpless and not knowing how to interpret Spock’s reaction. Spock’s eyes narrow slightly and he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

Jim offers him one more sorry shrug and turns back to the desk, finally finding a notebook that is only about half filled. He could probably run to the store tomorrow to get more if he needed to. Spock accepts the notebook and Jim nearly has to push him out of the room to get him to leave.

They go back to Jim’s room where Spock goes straight to the astronomy book. Jim almost left him to it, but then an idea sparked in his mind.

He walked past Spock, climbed on top of his bed, and slid open the window. He looks back, and Spock is watching him with curious eyes. Jim smirks and says, “Well? Come here.”

Spock quickly stands and steps over to the bed. Jim climbs out of the window and onto the roof, then gestures for Spock to do the same. He almost offers his hand out but remembers how not-touchy Spock is. Still, Spock manages to climb out the window with his usual unearthly grace, standing close next to Jim.

Jim grins, thrilled at the fact that Spock trusts him enough to climb out on the roof with him. And they timed it just right, too—the sun was just disappearing over the horizon, casting the sky in dark blues and deep purples. Spock is staring, just like Jim knew he would, so they stand there for a minute before Jim moves to the other side of the roof.

It was flatter over here, easier to sit on the shingles. Jim had been coming out here for ages it seemed. He somehow feels at home with nothing but the stars around him. He keeps a careful eye on Spock when he moves over, knowing that not even alien balance can counter the wobbly shingles of an old farmhouse. Spock only teeters once as he follows in Jim’s exact steps, carefully moving over to him.

“This is my favorite part,” Jim tells him softly. “Just after it gets dark and you get to see the stars one by one.”

They sit in silence for a little, and then Jim’s prediction comes true. Stars start to shimmer out of the dark sky one illuminating after another. Jim glances over at Spock, whose eyes go wide as he stares up into the heavens. A few minutes later, all the stars are out and Spock still hasn’t looked away.

“Nothing beats a midwestern view,” Jim says. “I think that’s why my dad liked it here so much.”

Spock only continues staring, his eyes darting across the sky like it’s the first time he’s seen the night sky. Then it strikes Jim that this is the first time he’s seen _these_ stars—Spock isn’t from this galaxy. Maybe he has different looking stars. Maybe there aren’t stars at all.

Jim points up at a star he recognizes. “That’s the Big Dipper—it’s connected to Orion…I think that one might be Venus, it looks too bright to be just a star.”

Spock follows Jim’s finger as he moves it about the sky as if taking each new set of data and categorizing the information in his head. Jim stops at one point and turns to face Spock, shifting carefully on the shingles. The moonlight highlights the contrast of Spock’s pale skin and dark hair.

The observation makes heat rush though him. God, now he’s starting to think the alien is attractive. How weird has his life become?

“Where are you from?” Jim asks. There’s confusion in Spock’s eyes, like he knows Jim asked him something but he doesn’t know what. Jim elaborates by pointing at Spock’s chest and saying slowly, “Where are you”—then he gestures to the sky above him—“from?”

Spock’s lips purse. Jim isn’t sure if he gets it and is about to act it out again, but Spock surprises him and stands.

“Careful,” Jim warns, but Spock is graceful as he slowly circles to the other side of the roof. He takes a moment squinting at the stars before turning back to Jim and pointing up.

“ _Vuhlkansu torektra_ ,” he says clearly. Jim’s eyebrows shoot up.

“V…vuksan toretta?” Jim repeats hesitantly. “Is that your planet’s name? Like Earth?”

Spock’s lips form a thin line. Jim knows he butchered whatever Spock said, but somehow he doesn’t think that’s what’s wrong. Spock looks frustrated, not angry.

“So…it’s _not_ your planet?” Jim guesses, shaking his head. Spock lets out a tiny breath, then steps back over to the window. “Sure, we can go back.” Jim gets up, but Spock is already back inside the house.

He ducks back through the window to find Spock on the floor again with the notebooks. He’s sketching something out on a new page.

“Hang on,” Jim says, climbing off the bed and over to the closet. Spock ignores him. After digging and moving a few things around, he finds his box of art supplies he used in middle school. It still had some colored pencils, markers, string, and other things that Spock could probably use.

“Here.” He drops the box in front of Spock, taking a colored pencil out and swiping it once across the top of the paper. Spock’s eyebrow quirks up in interest. Jim can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. “That might make it easier.”

Spock experimentally takes a red pencil out and continues his sketch, now in color. Jim goes back over to the window and closes it. He wants to see what Spock is doing, but settles on the bed and allows him his space to work.

Space. Aliens. Ha.

Jim loses track of time. Spock continues his drawing, his hands elegant and his posture somehow still perfect, even on the floor. Jim openly stares, noting how Spock doesn’t seem to hesitate when he moves. He doesn’t bite his lip, shift his weight, or look up at all like a human probably would. His movements aren’t robotic per say, but…intentional. Rhythmic.

After a while, Jim yawns, the work of the day finally catching up to him. He glances at the clock on his nightstand. It was almost midnight, and Spock still wasn’t done drawing. Jim doesn’t want to disturb something that Spock was obviously putting a lot of time and effort into, so he lays down on the bed and closes his eyes.

What seems like a second later, Jim wakes up to Spock quietly saying his name by his ear. Jim blinks his eyes open, already wanting to go back to sleep, but then he notices what Spock has done to his room.

“Holy shit,” Jim breathes in awe, sitting up.

Spock has ripped out his drawings and attached them to the ceiling with the little pieces of string. Jim gapes as he takes in the colorful depictions of planets, bright scribbles that look like stars, and even a various comet or two. They all looked like they were hung in a specific area with calculated distances between each.

Spock steps through the maze of drawings, careful not to disturb the delicate mobile structure. He comes next to a drawing of a planet that is entirely red and brown and grasps the drawing between his fingers.

“Jim, Earth,” Spock annunciates. “Spock, _Vulcan_.”

If Jim hadn’t already been sitting down, he probably would have fallen over.

“Vulcan,” Jim tries carefully, and Spock nods one in approval. “That’s where you’re from?” He stands, gingerly moving throughout the room now that Spock has more or less turned his room into an art studio. 

“This is your solar system,” Jim realizes. “Oh my _God_ , how jealous would the techs at NASA be if they knew I had a whole undiscovered galaxy mapped out in my bedroom?” He laughs once at the idea before turning to Spock.

“Vulcan,” Jim says, pointing at the planet by Spock’s head. He nods again. Jim points at what looks like a white and blue planet next to it. “What’s that one?”

“Delta Vega,” Spock tells him. Jim repeats it, and Spock nods a bit more energetically this time. Jim beams, then moves on to the next hanging drawing, and then the next and the next.

Spock isn’t the best artist; some of his sketches are little more than scribbles and vague shapes, but Jim doesn’t care. He moves around the room, pointing at various depictions and repeating the names Spock tells him the best he can. His fatigue is completely overrun by the excitement of discovering something new.

Spock was thorough in his star map, and it takes Jim a bit to get through everything. At one point they come across a drawing that Jim thinks is a planet, but it’s dark green and blackish, noticeably drawn more messily than the others. It’s also near the edge of the room, far away from other planets except for what look like two small moons. When Jim points to it, Spock’s face closes off.

“What?” Jim asks. “Is it bad or something?”

Spock offers no response, and cooly says, “Romulus.”

“Romulus,” Jim repeats, frowning. He wants to ask Spock more about it because it’s obvious that there is something that bothers him about it, but Jim yawns.

“Jim,” Spock says, taking a step back. “Sleep.”

Jim smiles at him sheepishly. “Yeah, I probably should. Are you—oh.”

Spock is already out the door before Jim can say anything else. Jim can only assume he went to the guest bedroom, and doesn’t think much more about it. He weaves his way over to his bed, collapsing into the mattress and shutting off the light before his eyes shut off, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter, y'all


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for extreme amount of fluff ahead

The next morning, Jim gets up early with a new sense of purpose. He moves quietly though the house, careful not to disturb Spock in case he’s still sleeping, and heads outside. He rides his motorcycle into town to the grocery store and then to the library. He tries to make his stops as quick as he can because the sky is overcast, and the last thing Jim needs is to get caught in the rain carrying library books.

When he gets back to the house, Spock is awake and in the living room. He’s unplugging and plugging in a lamp, apparently fascinated by this new concept of electricity. Jim can’t help the smile that overtakes his face.

“Hey,” he says, announcing his presence. “Look at what I got for you.”

He heads over to the kitchen counter and drops all of his bags on top. Spock pads over, peering curiously at the bags. Jim finds his knapsack and pulls out the books for Spock to see.

The books are obviously made for children, as they have large pictures and thick bolded words, but Jim wasn’t sure how else to begin. Spock’s eyes widen slightly as he sorts through them all. Jim hands him one that has the alphabet and opens it.

“Here. Like this.”

Jim grabs one of the notebooks that Spock must have left down here last night and writes out the alphabet at the top of the page. He points from the alphabet he wrote to the one laid out in the book. “These make up our language. See?”

Spock takes the notebook from him, a look on concentration on his face as he glances back and forth between the two pages. Jim lets him figure it out and starts to unpack the groceries.

Once everything is put away, Jim sets about trying to think of a food that both he and Spock could eat. He originally thinks tomato soup and grilled cheese would be a good combination for a rainy day, but then remembers Spock doesn’t eat with his hands. Cutting up a grilled cheese would be a bit difficult if it was too melty. So it would have to be just tomato soup, then.

While Jim cooks, Spock flips through the pages of the books, writing some kind of swirly figures under the alphabet Jim wrote for him. Jim assumes this is the alphabet from Spock’s planet. He leans over the counter and points to Spock’s writing. Spock looks up.

“Vulcan?” Jim tries. “Your language?”

Spock’s eyebrows shoot up so fast Jim snickers. He guesses he got that right. “I’m not as stupid as I look,” Jim teases, turning back to make sure the soup doesn’t burn. (You wouldn’t think it could, but his mom did it once and _never again_.)

When the soup’s done, he pours a small amount into a bowl and offers it to Spock. Spock glances up again, looking almost annoyed to be disturbed. He looks down at the soup, then back up at Jim. He doesn’t move to take it.

“You don’t even know if you like it or not,” Jim goads. “C’mon, just try it. Here.” He gets out a spoon and dips it into the soup, then mimes out how to use it. Spock looks hesitant as he takes the bowl from Jim’s hands and raises the spoon to his lips. His eyes widen in the same way they did when Jim gave him the vegetables, and Jim smirks.

“Told you so.”

Spock turns back to the bowl and starts eating so fast Jim wonders if he’s even breathing. He makes a mental note to feed Spock more. When he’s finished with the bowl, Jim refills it and hands it right back. For half a second Jim thinks Spock looks a little sheepish, but then his face falls flat again.

Jim makes a bowl for himself, glancing outside the kitchen window. The wind was picking up outside, and it was starting to look dark. There was probably a storm coming.

When they’re done eating, Spock turns back to the books, this time flipping through a picture book about different climates and ecosystems. Jim busies himself with cleaning the dishes, not noticing that Spock has paused until he calls his name.

“Yeah?” Jim steps over, looking at where Spock is pointing in the book. “That’s a desert. Those aren’t in the Midwest.”

Spock speaks in his own language, still looking at the picture of the dunes oddly. Almost longingly. Jim’s brain turns, trying to figure out what Spock must have said.

Dimly, Jim remembers how Spock acted so strangely around the water from the sink. He bites his lip and wonders if that had anything to do with it.

“Spock,” Jim says, pointing to the picture. “Is…is your planet like that?” Spock’s eyebrows draw together, and Jim tries again. “Does Vulcan have deserts? Like this?”

Spock’s lips pull down in a frown, saying a jumble of vowels again that Jim can’t even begin to decipher. But before Jim can make another guess, the sound of thunder booms overhead.

Spock jumps out of his seat, his eyes wide with alarm. Jim laughs and waves his hands around in what he hopes is a calming gesture, moving around the counter.

“No, no, it’s okay!” Jim says. “It’s just thunder.” Spock tilts his head. “You know, like the weather when rain happens?” Spock still is staring blankly at him. Jim covers his mouth with one of his hands and does what he hopes is an acceptable mimicry of thunder, but he doesn’t even finish before the sky booms again.

“That,” Jim says, pointing to the ceiling. “ _Thunder_.”

Instead of mimicking the word like he normally would, Spock still looks shaken, eyeing the ceiling anxiously. Rain starts to clatter steadily against the roof of the farmhouse, and Jim is struck with a sudden realization.

“Your planet doesn’t have rain.”

It made sense—Spock’s fascination with the water, his interest in the pictures of the desert, the red and brown drawing he made—his planet must be a dry one. Jim assumes they must have _some_ kind of water source—otherwise there would be no life—but maybe it wasn’t as accessible as it is on Earth.

A thrill pulses through Jim as he immediately makes a grab for the sleeve of Spock’s weird robe. Spock startles again, but stumbles along as Jim tugs him forward toward the front door. As soon as he catches on, Spock digs his heels into the floor and shakes his head. Moving Spock without his consent was a task in of itself, as he suddenly became three times heavier to pull. But if there’s one Kirk quality, it's stubbornness.

“C’mon,” Jim urges. “It’s just rain.”

But Spock shakes his head again and inches back. Jim frowns, taking in the small crease between the tilted eyebrows and comes to a second realization.

“You’re afraid?” Spock stares back in response. “Don’t be! It’s just water falling from the atmosphere.” Another roll of thunder sounds, and Spock rips his sleeve from Jim’s grip, but doesn’t run away like Jim expected him to.

“Okay, okay,” Jim says, holding up his hands in a show of good faith. “You don’t have to be scared. I’ll show you!”

Opening the door, Jim makes a big show of smiling and stepping forward onto the porch. Spock watches him carefully, not moving from his spot in the doorway. Jim turns around and steps down the stairs leading up to the house, keeping his hand on the slick railing—he’s fallen too many times to be stupid enough not to do that. He’s only hoping Spock is watching and taking note of how not-dead Jim is with his careful eyes.

Despite the summer heat, the rain is cool and it instantly soaks through Jim’s shirt. He wasn’t wearing shoes, which in retrospect wasn’t that great of an idea, but he enjoys the feeling of the damp grass under his feet anyway. Jim gives a little sigh, and turns around to face the house. Spock has inched forward out of the doorway, and is now hanging on the frame like it’s a life raft, but he looks more curious now than skittish.

“See?” Jim says over the sound of the downpour, smiling and raising up his arms. “Rain. It’s harmless. Actually, it’s kinda fun!”

Jim steps back further and lifts his face up to the sky, letting the drops land across his cheeks and eyelids. Briefly, he wonders how different his life would be without knowing what rain is. Not that he didn’t enjoy it particularly, but crops needed it to grow and other people needed it to drink and water cattle. Maybe he could somehow ask Spock this.

Turning his head down, Jim rubs at his eyes to get the water out of them and is surprised to see Spock at the edge of the porch.

“That’s it!” Jim encourages gently. “C’mon, it’s not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

Jim realizes immediately after saying this that he has no idea if or how rain would affect alien biology, or how to handle a situation of Spock being allergic or harmed by rain. He also remembers that Spock can’t understand him, and Jim’s promises meant nothing. So really, it was a stupid thing to say all around, but Spock didn’t seem to be discouraged.

Spock reaches out a hand past the incline of the roof first, as if testing the temperature of a pool right before jumping in. Apparently appeased by the fact that he didn’t catch on fire or something by the touch of the water, he extends his arm a little further. Then, he grips the rail on the side of the porch steps just like Jim did and slowly descends.

Jim is beaming. Spock steps onto the ground and looks down at his now wet torso, then back up at Jim. Jim steps closer to Spock and says, “Rain.”

Spock’s eyes dart down to Jim’s lips, then back up to his eyes.

“Rain,” Spock repeats. Despite the loud natural sounds around them, Jim hears Spock’s word perfectly. His _R_ sounds a little sharp, but Jim is lost to how the water has fallen across Spock’s face and over his lips.

Actually, the water has fallen _everywhere_. Jim can’t help it—he outright stares. Spock’s dark hair is glistening and sticking cutely to his forehead. His cheeks are tinged green, probably from the cold and excitement. His eyes are warm and lighter, somehow, and his lips are parted like he wants to say something but the language barrier is preventing it.

Jim is suddenly very aware of how close Spock is to him, and how if either of them stepped forward just a bit and shifted, they would be kissing.

A chill runs down Jim’s spine that has nothing to do with the temperature of the rain.

But before he can think of anything further, another round of thunder booms, and Spock startles. He obviously isn’t used to walking on wet terrain, because he loses his footing and lands on his backside on the muddy ground.

Spock blinks once in surprise and looks up at Jim. Jim bursts out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Jim gasps, though not really feeling it. Spock’s lips are turned down in a scowl now and he struggles to get up, but can’t seem to find the right kind of foundation on the mud. He looks like a floundering wet kitten, and Jim laughs even harder.

“Hang—hang on,” Jim says, still grinning as he leans down and offers Spock his hand. “No, Spock—just stop squirming—hey!”

Spock grabs a hold of Jim’s forearm but instead of pulling himself up, he pulls Jim down into the mud as well. Jim splutters and immediately wipes the mud off his face as he mock glares at Spock. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Spock offers no rebuttal, but if Jim didn’t know any better, he’d say the alien looks almost coy.

“You sneaky little shit!” Jim cries out, laughing again. Carefully getting up so not to step on him, Jim gets up and pulls Spock up with him. As if on cue, lightening flashes in the distant sky, causing both Jim and Spock to jump. “C’mon, wise guy. We need to get back inside before the storm gets worse. Besides,” Jim pauses and looks Spock over. “You look cold.”

Jim leads them back up the porch and into the house, ignoring that the feeling of looking at Spock in fact made him very, very hot.

~*~

Twenty minutes later, Spock is wrapped up in Jim’s comforter, sitting stiff backed against Jim’s headboard. In a way, it was good that Spock was completely covered. Jim had dug through his closet to find an old pair of sweats and a soft gray T-shirt, passing them to Spock along with a towel and miming how to dry off. Spock’s face had closed off, and Jim assumed he had got the message, so he left the room and went downstairs to make something hot. A few minutes later, Jim nearly dropped the two mugs he was holding at the sight of Spock in his clothes.

Spock is thinner than Jim, so the shirt is loose around his shoulders and the pants ride up on his ankles. It's more the sight of Spock’s pale neck and collarbone exposed that makes Jim’s breath stutter.

To save off from his own weird (creepy?) feelings, Jim had set down both the mugs on the nightstand and wrapped the comforter from the bed around Spock’s shoulders when he kept shivering. Now, Jim sips from his own mug and Spock next to him watches the action intensely.

“I made one for you, you know,” Jim tells him. Reaching around Spock on the nightstand, Jim offers Spock the other mug. It takes a bit of urging to get him to take it. “It’s hot chocolate. It’ll warm you up, especially after an excursion in the rain.”

Spock raises the mug to his nose, then deems it acceptable and brings the drink to his lips. His eyes widen just a hair, and then he takes another drink, longer this time, and Jim smiles at him.

“Thought you’d like it,” Jim says. “It’s got cinnamon in it. Ma used to make it like this for me as a kid ‘cause that’s how she had it growing up. Guess it runs in the family.” Jim smiles again, only this time a little sadly. He misses her more than anything, but he knows she was busy and he doesn’t want to bother her.

“Ah,” Jim shakes his head, swiping under his nose. “You don’t want me getting all sappy about family, do you? Do you have a family? Siblings?”

Spock tilts his head and Jim licks his lips, wondering how the hell he could possibly explain the concept of family to an alien, before he is struck with a simple solution. Untangling himself from the blankets, Jim stands. He tries not to step on any of the drawings of the planets Spock made; Jim had taken them down earlier in order to move around the room easier.

“Wait here,” Jim says, and reaches for the mug in Spock’s hands. Spock pulls back, his hands tightening around the mug like it’s something precious. Jim smirks. “Okay, if you want it that bad, you can keep it.”

Stepping out of the room, Jim hurries down the stairs and places his own empty mug in the sink before swinging by the fireplace in the living room and grabbing a picture frame. Trudging back up, he gets back into his room and sits back down on the bed next to Spock, offering the photo to him.

“See? Family. This is my brother Sam, that’s me, and this is my mom.” Jim points at each person individually and watches how Spock’s eyes follow the motion.

Jim briefly wonders if there is such a thing as step-parents where Spock comes from. Probably not. He watches as Spock sets down the mug and slowly runs his fingers across the plastic frame. He mutters something in his own language, and Jim would pay anything to be able to know what was running through Spock’s head.

Suddenly, Spock drops the comforter from his shoulders and sits on the floor next to the notepad, grabbing a fallen pencil and practically attacking an empty page. Jim raises his eyebrows and peers over at what he is doing from his position on the bed.

Spock is drawing again, but this time the pictures look more familiar. Like pointy eared stick figures in robes.

“Is that…you?” Jim guesses. “Your parents?”

Spock ignores him, and works to finish the sketch. When he’s done, there are little alien stick figures, one taller than the other. He raises the notebook to Jim.

Jim almost feels ashamed as he sheepishly says, “Is it you? I don’t know, man, you gotta give me more.” Jim shakes his head and raises his hands to convey this. Spock shuffles across the floor to the bed, pulling the frame and holding it next to the notebook.

“You do have a family!” Jim exclaims, smiling knowing that his message got through. “So who is that? Is that your dad or something?”

Spock simply stares blankly at him, and Jim almost sighs. Just as they were making progress; one step forward, another two steps back.

But Spock does something that surprises Jim even further. He points at Jim, then to Sam in the picture. “Yeah, that’s Sam,” Jim encourages. “My brother. My mom’s other kid.”

Spock points at Jim again and says, “Jim,” then touches the picture again and says, “Sam.” It comes out sounding more like _saaum_ but Jim doesn’t care. His attention is rapt as Spock points again to his drawing and says, “Spock.” He points to the shorter of the two in the image, then drags his fingers across to the other figure. “Sybok.”

Jim nearly falls off the bed.

“Cybook,” Jim repeats, pointing at the same taller figure on the sheet. Spock’s mouth twitches. “Yeah, I know I butchered that. But he’s your...brother? Like Sam?” To affirm his point, Jim points at Spock’s chest, then touches the little drawing. He licks his lips and is careful about his next words. “ _Sybok_ , like Sam.”

Spock barely inclines his head forward, but Jim takes that as a nod. Jim beams. “Your brother! Wow, do you have other family? A mom?” He points to his mother in the photo frame Spock is holding, but Spock just stares blankly back at him. So, maybe not.

Spock puts down the picture frame on the bed, then tears out the page in the notebook with his sketch. He points the two little drawn figures, then rips the page in half.

Jim feels sadness tug at him as he understands. “You were separated.” Spock takes it a little bit further and crumples up the half of the paper that depicted himself, and throws it across the room. Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, you were _really_ separated. Is that how…how you got here?”

Spock looks lost, but not because of the language barrier. Jim scoots off the bed and kneels next to him. “I’m sorry,” Jim says earnestly, placing his hands on Spock’s shoulders in what he hopes is comforting. “I wish I could help you. I just don’t know what to do—with myself, usually, not just with you—”

Jim cuts off as Spock suddenly shifts forward and lifts his hand to Jim’s face. A thrill of fear spikes through Jim.

“Wait, what are you—”

Spock presses his fingers around Jim’s temple and eye, and suddenly, the floor drops away, the walls evaporate, everything disappears into darkness except for the feeling of Spock’s fingers. And Jim is _feeling_ , somehow taping into emotions and thoughts that aren’t his, the fear and anxiety of being trapped on a planet, the soft humor when Jim tries to teach something new, and—almost more than anything—the intense fascination regarding the world, regarding _Jim_.

Jim feels himself suck in a ragged breath. Because then he _knows_ —how Spock wasn’t ever supposed to be on that ship with Sybok, how Sybok got cocky and decided to take a ship out for a joyride in a galaxy they shouldn’t have been in, and how they were shot by an enemy vessel, how Sybok tried to outrun but realized he couldn’t and their culture stood to lose too much if they were both captured…and it was too much, _it was all too much_ , Spock’s fear and panic and pain from the landing, the surprise to find himself in a non-colonized planet, one that had yet to discover warp travel, and a strange creature with eyes an entirely new color pulling him out of the ship—

When Spock pulls away, Jim collapses onto the floor. His breath is coming in pants; he feels like he just ran a marathon with weights tied to his ankles. Spock sits back on his heels and tilts his head, something like concern glistening in his eyes.

Jim coughs and rolls over onto his back. Spock peers down at him.

“You were attacked,” Jim concludes weakly. “ _That’s_ why you’re not trying to leave. Because you’re afraid those bad guys will come after you if they know you’re here.”

Sighing, Jim scrubs a hand across his face. “Okay. Mind reading alien hiding in my room from other aliens. Right. This is fine.”

Jim takes another breath and pushes himself up into a sitting position. The movement made him feel nauseated. Exhaustion weighs down his bones and he runs his fingers through his hair. He suddenly wants to sink down into bed and go to sleep.

“Spock, I want to go to bed,” Jim says, then remembers Spock doesn’t know what that means. “Uh, sleep. Remember that?” Jim points to his chest for good nature, then repeats “Sleep.” Spock watches in silence as he gets up.

“Goodnight,” Jim tells him, more or less for his own sanity, and closes the bedroom door behind him.

~*~

Spock wishes, not for the first time, for a way to construct a translator.

He had never realized how heavily he relied on verbal language to communicate until it was taken from him. The meld he performed was obviously sloppy and practically unwarranted—he was just so _tired_ of miming things to Jim, there was no way he could physically express his brother making a poor decision which lead to the magnitude of the situation of what they were in now.

A part of Spock that may or may not be delirious wishes perhaps Sybok will learn his lesson to be more practical because of all this. Losing contact with his brother and getting chased down by Romulan warbirds. Let him suffer for his rashness.

Immediately after thinking this, however, Spock flushes with shame and wonders if his brother had gotten away from the attack at all. If that was the case, Spock would be the one the Vulcans turned to as next in bloodline to rule once Sarek had passed. Spock had daydreamed about it as a child, but now wishes that his misguided boyhood thoughts would remain just that—a fantasy.

But during the brief times Spock meditates, he can feel the familial bond still holding strong. Sybok wasn’t dead, that was certain. It both comforted Spock and gave a twist in his gut.

Yet. It was intriguing to learn of Jim and his planetary culture. Jim was an odd being—built sturdy like a warrior, yet holding the personality traits of a child. Spock was almost sure it was because of _him_ that Jim was acting like this, but it was more or less…endearing.

What would his father say if he knew how emotionally invested Spock had become in this creature?

Spock shakes his head. He wasn’t being emotional. Only practical. Jim was helping him survive on this planet, and Spock was acting accordingly to Jim’s hospitality.

He was becoming distracted again.

He turns back to the volume at his feet. During the nights in which Jim rested, Spock focused his time not meditating into studying and learning in order to better communicate. Jim had produced several written works of how to properly read and write the symbols the people of this planet used for language.

It reminded Spock of when he was a child, first learning how to write side by side with the elder tutors. Spock wonders if Jim’s planet had some similar system of education, and if they started out just as early. Jim physically looked to be similar in age as Spock. However, these creatures could age completely different than Vulcans.

 _He is not of your world_ , Spock chastises himself. _He is nothing of what you know_.

Spock works for a few stages of the night, pouring over the information he could find and slowly piecing together the language he would be forced to put into practice. While he could work all he wanted on writing, he found himself at a loss at pronunciation. He would have to wait until Jim woke before pursuing any further.

It is during this brief interruption of his concentration that Spock notices a noise that is coming from outside.

It sounds like a deep rumble, not entirely like a starship’s engines, but not as smooth, either. It gradually grows louder until Spock is certain the noise is coming from the house’s direct vicinity.

Dropping the volume of folded-scrolls, Spock quickly and quietly goes down the stairs of the house. In the living room, Jim is peacefully asleep on his stomach on the long chair, one arm thrown over his head, the other dangling off the side of the furniture, his mouth open and half smashed in the arm. He had fallen asleep there after an evening of trying to teach Spock how to play an earthly board game with black and white pieces that resembled animals.

Spock briefly debates if this noise is worth waking Jim from the slumber he biologically appeared to need. His hesitation gets pushed down, however, as Spock begins to hear other noises, including footsteps approaching the house.

“Jim,” Spock says, crouching low near where his ear is partially hidden behind yellow hair. “Something approaches. Jim, you must wake now.”

Jim bats at him like a playful sehlat, but his eyes begin to open. “Spock?” Jim mutters, then yawns. Jim starts to say something more, but stops and becomes as still as stone.

Then, he is scrambling up like a mad creature, shoving at Spock and pushing him roughly. Jim points toward the stairs and hisses frantically. Spock feels the panic Jim is projecting coming through in heavy waves, and begins to understand.

He needed to hide.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((TW for slight abuse. Only in the first section, feel free to skip.))

Jim almost feels bad for forcing Spock back up the stairs and out of sight, but _God_ if Frank found out about any of this…

He’d probably try to sell Spock to the government. Or the circus. Or something twice as worse that Jim doesn’t even want to _think_ of right now.

He only just gets settled back on the couch, his heart slamming in his chest, when the door swings open.

“Kid!” Frank calls loudly, stepping into the house with a familiar drunken gait. “’M back!”

Jim sucks in a breath and pretends to yawn, making a show of ‘waking up’ and making his presence known. “I’m right here,” Jim says. “Where’d you go this time?”

“Kansas City,” Frank responds, leaning heavily against the wall to remove his boots. Once they’re off, he glances up and squints, only then seeming to notice Jim. “What the hell ‘re you doin’ on the couch?”

“What d’you do in Kansas City? Work stuff?” Jim asks lightly, hoping that Frank was too far gone to realize Jim was trying to manipulate the conversation. (Besides, they both knew Frank never did any _work stuff_ when he disappeared for random days.)

But Frank always had to be in control. If he wasn’t, then he got mad. And when he got mad, he took it out on whatever—or whomever—was closest.

Frank frowns at him, and immediately makes a bee-line for the kitchen. “Y’didn’t answer my question.”

Fuck.

“I,” Jim pauses, hearing the sound of a beer bottle opening. “I was waiting for you to get home.”

“That’s a load of shit,” Frank tosses back, lumbering out into the living room and taking a swing from the bottle. “You’re fulla it.”

“You know, bathrooms were invented to prevent that problem,” Jim counters. He sits up on the couch and tries to resist glancing at the stairs. He hoped _hoped hoped_ Spock is somewhere out of visible range. But in the end, it might not matter. If Frank wanted to look around the house, there was nothing preventing him from doing so.

“Don’t you sass me, James Tiberius,” Frank snaps, pointing at Jim. “You live in this house. You live under me and my rules.”

 _It’s not even your house, fucker_ , Jim wants to shout, but he bites his tongue. He opens his mouth to say something else, but a noise above him makes him freeze.

The floorboards creak.

Frank looks up once and slides his gaze to Jim. “What, you got a girl upstairs or somethin’?”

“No!” Jim says quickly, instantly realizing his mistake. He sounded too defensive. It was too easily seen as a lie. “I-I don’t have anyone anywhere. It was just the house settling.”

Frank snorts and drinks again. “’M surprised you can even get ‘um. What, she blind?” He laughs at his own joke, and Jim feels a new sense of hot panic rise in him as Frank turns toward the stairs. “Alright, I won’t harsh your mood, kid. ‘M just gonna go say ‘ello.”

Jim launches himself off the couch and grabs Frank’s arm. “No!” Frank curses and tries to shake Jim off, which is proving difficult with the beer in his one hand and Jim clinging to the other. “You can’t, don’t! You’ll scare him!”

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Frank growls, his drunken state making it harder to get Jim off. “Lemme go, kid!”

“Just listen! You can’t go up there!” Jim tries again, hating how his voice sounded so _pathetic_.

“This is my goddamn house,” snarls Frank, finally ripping Jim off and pushing him back a step. “ And ’m gonna do whatever I want, because it’s my _goddamn house_.” He moves back to the staircase and gets up three steps before Jim catches up to him. But before he can make another grab, Frank whirls around and smashes his fist into Jim’s cheek.

Stars explode across his vision as he staggers back. Pain thrums in his skull as he dimly hears Frank stomping up the stairs. No, he had to get to Spock. _Spock_. Jim shakes his head in an effort to alleviate the shock and stumbles after him.

The sight that greets Jim is almost enough to send him falling backward again. Spock has his fingers pressed against the spot where Frank’s neck met his shoulder, and Frank collapses unceremoniously on the floor, unconscious. The bottle of beer shatters on the floor at the contact.

Spock looks up and locks eyes with Jim. Jim feels even dizzier than before.

Apparently, Spock is full of more surprises than he thought.

~*~

Jim can’t help the wince that comes from applying the bag of frozen peas to his cheek. It honestly wasn’t the worst of punches Frank has thrown his way, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, either. Jim could already feel the bruise forming just under his eye. He should consider himself lucky; it Frank had nailed him just a little higher, Jim would be half blind, which would probably make dealing with the whole alien thing a lot harder.

Under other circumstances, Jim would be wise enough to duck or move out of the way of Frank’s rage, or at least take a swing back for good measure. But this time, nothing had been clear in his head other than his deep fear of any harm coming to Spock.

And it wasn’t like Jim didn’t think Spock couldn’t protect himself. Sure, his guest is an odd one, but he is obviously intelligent and can recognize a threat. He seemed to understand Jim’s urgency when he heard Frank’s truck pulling in outside. He could clearly handle danger, as he had taken down Frank just by touching him once—something Jim is both envious and in awe of.

Still, he feels at a loss when he tries to identify what inside him makes him so eager to protect Spock. He wants Spock to feel safe and secure, especially around him.

Maybe he’s still delirious.

They’re both crammed in the tiny bathroom downstairs, Jim with his peas and Spock with his big, dark eyes. Jim is pressed up against the counter, glancing between Spock and his injury in the mirror. He doesn’t have to look to know Spock is staring.

“Yep,” Jim mutters, removing the frozen package and poking his cheek, immediately wincing at the pain it causes. “Already bruising.”

Sighing, Jim turns away from the mirror and looks at Spock. He’s still wearing Jim’s clothing—the fit is still wrong, and it’s almost cute if Jim doesn’t think of how quickly he took Frank down. “What did you do to him, by the way? Is it the same thing you did to me last night? Are you psychic?”

Spock doesn’t say anything. Jim wasn’t expecting him to. Instead, he tries to mime passing out to reenact whatever it was that Spock did, but Spock’s arms shoot out and wrap around his waist in a surprisingly strong grip. Jim almost laughs and says, “No, no, I’m not actually passing out. I’m okay.”

He stands up straight to prove this, but Spock doesn’t remove his arms. Jim’s heart pounds. “I’m okay,” Jim repeats, softer this time. “I—”

Spock says something in his vowel-y language, his lips moving fast around the foreign syllables. He ends his sentence with Jim’s name. Then, he removes his arms from Jim’s waist, but doesn’t step back.

Jim swallows, glancing down at Spock’s lips before he can stop himself. Would kissing an alien break some kind of interdimensional law? Probably. Hell, the CIA probably had it in for him already. He’s hidden Spock this long, molesting him would probably be a step too far.

Instead, Jim turns and reaches for the peas again, pressing them hard against his face to distract himself.

“I wish I knew what you were saying,” Jim tells him wistfully. “Can you imagine if I bridged the language gap between us and the aliens? Bet Ma would be proud then, huh.”

Spock just looks at him. Now there was a softer edge to his stare and a small crease between his pointed eyebrows. He mutters something again, and Jim shakes his head.

“I don’t—” Jim was about to say _I don’t understand_ , but he cuts himself off when Spock takes his wrist and pulls it down away from his face. “W-what are you doing?”

Spock holds his middle and index fingers together and brushes them on top of Jim’s bruised cheek. Jim expects to feel drowsy, or get caught up in the same whirlwind when Spock touched his face before, but this is…different.

Jim feels happier. Lighter. But he doesn’t think Spock is conveying this, per say. He just thinks it’s more of an effect of being near Spock.

He holds his breath as Spock moves his fingers, still held together in that gesture, across his face to his temple and back down to his chin, then to the side of his lips. Spock pauses there, then removes his hand. Jim lets out a little breath of disappointment.

But instead of stopping whatever he was doing, Spock reaches for Jim’s hand. Jim tosses the bag of peas on the counter and watches as Spock plays with his fingers, making them into the same position Spock is holding his in. Index and middle fingers held together, the others bent down.

Then he seems to hesitate, glancing up at Jim. Jim doesn’t know what he wants, so he only offers a small smile in what he hopes is encouraging.  It appears to be enough, because Spock slides their fingers together.

Jim jerks back. “Shit!”

It’s like he got shocked by a wire. Spock’s eyes go wide and he backs up, dropping his hand. Jim shakes his head, realizing this not the reaction Spock must have been looking for. He looked like he was scared—at least as scared as Spock could look.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Jim quickly apologizes. “I just—I wasn’t expecting that. No, c’mon, let’s do it again.”

It takes a bit more goading, and Jim raises his fingers expectantly until Spock finally stops looking spooked and slowly raises his fingers back. He presses their fingers together again.

It isn’t like being shocked, Jim realizes. It’s more of like a soft pulsing of electricity, like touching a sea anemone underwater. It isn’t unpleasant. It’s just…different.

“You’re just full of surprises, huh?” Jim teases gently. Spock looks more content than Jim has ever seen him, the tips of his lips quirking up. Then, he removes his hand from Jim’s and drops it at his side.

Jim sighs, the spell broken. “Right. I’d better go check on Frank to see if he’s actually dead.”

Wouldn’t that be something nice.

~*~

It’s the weirdest thing. Frank leaves the next morning, not saying a word to Jim. He has a strange look on his face, like he isn’t quite awake but still able to fully function. Jim absentmindedly rubs at his cheek as he hears the truck drive away.

Spock did this. Jim knows he did, but he has no idea how. Jim wonders if there will be a time when Spock does that very same thing to him, and makes him leave behind his house and do God-knows-what in God-knows-where. But something tells him Spock needs him around. He is Spock’s only real connection to this planet, after all.

Still, the whole thing is unsettling. How could a being that was powerful enough to make a person lose their mind be just as gentle? And what were the rest of his species like? Would they come looking for Spock? Would those aliens that attacked Spock and his brother be coming, too?

Jim busies himself making omelets in the kitchen, turning on the radio to calm his nerves. His mom kept a pile of old CDs that she would dance around the kitchen to when she was making dinner back when Jim’s dad was still alive. Feeling melancholy, Jim turns one on. The small kitchen soon fills with the crooning sound of crackling jazz and Jim sighs, content.

He cracks open an egg on the pan and is suddenly aware of a presence over his shoulder. Turning, he sees Spock staring curiously at the radio on the counter. He glances up at Jim, who smiles at him.

“Ma and Dad used to dance to this one,” Jim tells him, his voice suddenly thick with unexpected emotion. “I would watch them as a kid whenever they did it. He’d lift her and spin her all around, and she’d laugh…” Jim trails off. “I don’t think I’ve heard her laugh like that since he died.”

He knows Spock can’t understand what he’s saying, but something seems to pass between them that Jim can’t explain. It’s almost like Spock isn’t looking at him, but _through_ him. Into him. Into his soul, or something psychic like that.

Jim rubs the back of his neck. “Er, right. Getting emotional again, sorry.” He turns back to the pan, and realizes he hasn’t yet cut up the vegetables he needs.

Budging past Spock, Jim makes work of getting the vegetables out of the fringe and placing them on a cutting board. As he starts to chop, he watches as Spock starts to get a little braver and touches the radio. It switches songs, and Spock’s eyebrow twitches in interest. Jim has to hold back a chuckle as Spock starts to press every button on the player, experimenting with which button did what.

Jim goes back to the pan and sprinkles in tomatoes and peppers, taking his eyes off Spock to flip the omelet. When he glances back, Spock is holding the knife in his hand and is staring at it intensely.

Jim freezes for a second and is struck with a quick fear that maybe Spock will use the knife as a weapon against him. His anxiety is quelled, however, when he realizes Spock is observing the knife rather than brandishing it. He’s grasping the utensil between his fingers much like he held pencils when writing. The light from the kitchen glints off the blade and reflects Spock’s pale skin.

“Careful,” Jim tells him. He watches warily as Spock runs the tip of his index finger across the flat side of the blade, and trailing slowly toward the sharp edge. “No, don’t—” The knife nicks his finger on the tip, just like Jim knew it would.

Spock throws the knife down. It clatters against the counter and nearly bounces back from the force. Jim swears and moves closer to Spock, who is holding out his bleeding finger to Jim very much like how a child would hold an injury out to a parent.

Automatically, Jim takes Spock’s wrist and pops his finger in his mouth. Spock rears back and shoves his shoulders with awesome strength, knocking Jim back on his ass on the tile floor.

“What the hell?” Jim cries in outrage. “What’d I do?”

Spock offers him no answer, and staring at Jim with a strange expression in his eyes, protectively holding his injured finger in the fist of his other hand.

“Whatever,” Jim spats, getting to his feet and turning off the radio. The jazz instantly stops and Jim ignores Spock, finishing the omelet in silence. He slaps it on a plate and drops it on the counter in front of him. “Here.”

Jim turns away, not checking to see if Spock actually takes it. He turns off the stove and stomps out the door, deciding now was as good as a time as any to work on his bike.

~*~

Jim loses track of Spock until later that afternoon. _It’s fine_ , he tells himself. Let the moody alien do whatever he wants in the house. After all, it wasn’t even _Jim’s_ house.

Scoffing at the thought, Jim steps back inside. What was the deal with Spock, anyway? In the early hours of the morning he gets touchy, but then later he literally knocks Jim on his ass for trying to help him relieve his pain? Sometimes, Spock didn’t make any sense.

 _That’s because he’s an alien, dipshit_ , Jim’s brain tells him. _He’s not even human! Why would he act like one?_

Spock was like a puzzle, and the more Jim thinks about him, the more bewildered he gets. But God, he wants to know. He wants more than anything to be able to ask Spock questions and have them answered. The more time he spends around the alien, the more he doesn’t want to be away. It was an itch that couldn’t be scratched. And it was annoying as hell.

After cleaning the oil off his hands in the kitchen, Jim grabs an apple and trudges upstairs. He finds Spock in the guest room, sitting cross-legged in the center of a halo of ripped notebook pages. Jim wants to grumble at the mess Spock has made, but then something on the paper catches his eye.

“Wait,” Jim says, tilting his head and squinting at the pages. “Are you…writing in English?”

Jim drops to the floor, tossing the apple aside. Spock’s writing is shaky, and he’s writing up and down instead of side to side, but that’s _definitely_ a squiggly English alphabet on the pages of Spock’s writing.

“Holy shit,” Jim breathes, glancing up at Spock in awe. “You’re smart.” Spock locks eyes with him, and Jim thinks his eyebrow twitches. “I-I mean I knew you were smart already, but…Whoa, this is so cool! An alien writing in English.”

Maybe they can actually communicate in this way! Jim can finally get his answers and pick Spock’s brain.

“Jim,” Spock says, the sound of his accented voice sending shivers down Jim’s spine. He holds out a sheet of paper to Jim, who takes it. On it, there is the a few letters of the alphabet written vertically.

“Uh,” Jim says uncertainly, raising an eyebrow at the page. “Yeah. You know your vowels, that’s for sure.”

Jim looks back up. There is a thick crease between Spock’s eyebrows as he stares at Jim. He glances down at the page, then back up at Jim, scowling.

Then, Jim realizes what happened. “You learned how to write letters, but you don’t know words.”

To make is clearer, Jim points at the paper and says, “No.” Spock seems to get it, because he exhales sharply out of his nose in what Jim thinks might have been a frustrated sigh.

Well, this sucks. How was Jim supposed to teach an entire language to an alien? Spock obviously could handle his own when it came to education, but Jim was no preschool teacher. He doubted he would be able to explain one word without referencing another, none the less describe a dialect.

But then a new idea pops into Jim’s head. It would be risky, but they could do it. Plus, it would be a great chance for Spock to escape the confounds of the farmhouse and see a little bit more of the town.

Stepping around Spock’s pile of papers, Jim opens the closet door and digs around in a box of winter clothes for a moment before he found what he was looking for. He tugs the dark green beanie out of the box and tosses it to Spock. Spock lets the beanie hit him in the chest and makes no move to pick it up.

Jim snorts. Cute. Then, he gets to work gathering up all of Spock’s papers. “Put it on,” Jim tells him, pointing to the beanie. “You’re gonna need a disguise.”


	6. Chapter 6

The headdress Jim makes him wear is itchy; it rubs against his ears and irritates his scalp. But no matter how many times Spock pulls it off, Jim chastises him and puts it right back on his head. They have this kind of back-and-forth for a while. Spock tries to convey his distaste, but eventually gives up removing the piece to appease Jim. He appears to be frustrated, but his face clears when he realizes Spock isn't fighting him anymore.

Then he gives Spock a warm smile which makes blood rise to the surface of Spock’s cheeks. Spock instantly looks away, not knowing why simple expression of pleasure from Jim has such an effect on him.

Spock doesn’t know if Jim noticed this or not.

They are going somewhere. This much Spock deduces from the way Jim had packed his writings and folded-scrolls in a bag now slung over his shoulder. There is no urgency in Jim’s gait, no panic on his face, so Spock assumes they aren’t leaving due to a dangerous circumstance.

Jim leads Spock outside the house to the side of the yard where there is what looks like a hovercar that has been cut in half and righted vertically. With wheels.

Spock stares at the contraption until Jim speaks and urges him forward. Spock half waits for the thing to fall onto its side and levitate, but it doesn’t. Jim speaks again, pointing at him and the half car. Then Spock realizes Jim wants him to get on it.

He must have made a face, because Jim laughs. The sound was melodic and causes a different kind of jitteriness to flutter in his stomach. But before Spock can interpret what that means, Jim approaches him and gently tugs at his arm to pull him over to the contraption. Jim steps directly next to it and swings one of his legs over the side of the thing, talking through each step. Spock shakes his head, but Jim is a persistent creature and climbs off to tug at him with more vigor.

Evidently following a pattern, Spock gives in. He was finding his Vulcan training failing him more frequently whenever Jim trains his eyes on him. They were impossibly expressive and so, _so_ blue—he is overcome by the strangest sensation, like Jim’s eyes were made of a water into which Spock was constantly slipping deeper. He steps closer to the contraption just like Jim did. He clumsily raises his leg and throws it over the side of the half car, landing awkwardly on the seat. The tips of his feet brush the ground, and Spock observes that the vehicle uses weight to balance rather than motors.

Jim climbs on the contraception behind Spock, suddenly very close. Spock stiffens at the sudden contact. He can feel the warmth of Jim’s unusual body temperature through his clothing.

It is not an unpleasant feeling.

Jim reaches around him and flicks something, and an engine underneath them rumble to life. Not knowing where to place his hands, Spock wraps his fingers around what he assumes is handlebars. Jim closes his hands just around the outside of where his are placed.

When Jim speaks next, it’s directly in his ear. And when he laughs, Spock can feel the puff of warm air across his skin. While he was at a satisfying temperature moments ago, his flesh prickles, though he felt no chill.

Jim kicks something and they are suddenly moving forward, Spock jolting back. Jim steers them away from the house and onto a road. Jim does a good job of balancing them, and Spock holds himself still the best he can, watching in awe as a new world passes around him.

 _Color_. This world was full of color. Shades of gray, blue, yellow, red, and brown all decorate the surrounding flat landscape. Other established houses share in assorted colors, hold different decorations and varied sizes and shape of property. And everything was so…green. The flora and fauna all stemmed from roots of _green_. It was all so different than the deep reds and browns of Vulcan.

A feeling twists inside of Spock’s chest.

They approached what looked to be a larger settlement. The square buildings became taller and closer together. Jim appeared to know where he was going, weaving in and out of larger surrounding vehicles on the road. Eventually, he stopped in front of a large stone building, sliding easily off the machine.

He offers Spock his hand. Spock glances down at it and suddenly remembers how Jim had stuck his injured finger between his lips. Spock flushes at the thought; Jim’s species obviously didn’t hold the same taboos involving hands. There was no way he had knowingly scandalized himself. Thus, any offering of Jim’s hands was meant as an innocent gesture, not to be taken romantically.

Even if Spock had stolen a kiss or two, it was simply for Jim’s comfort. Nothing more.

Satisfied with this logic, Spock takes Jim’s hand and allows himself to be pulled off the vehicle. Jim readjusts the bag on his shoulder, and grins at him. Still feeling waves of happiness coming from his companion, Spock softly returns it.

~*~

Watching Spock walk into a library is like watching a child experience Christmas for the first time. His eyes go wide as he steps into the building, stopping and staring at every row of books. Jim can’t help but grin at his obvious excitement, tugging at Spock’s sleeve gently to get him to walk deeper into the building.

Spock trails after Jim as he drops off the books he had checked out earlier this week at the front desk, getting an odd look from the librarian who eyes Spock like someone would look at an oil painting they might not understand.

Jim knows how ridiculous Spock looks, with that wool hat on his head in the middle of summer and the strange fit of his clothes, but it makes Jim feel defensive again. He didn’t want anyone giving Spock a shitty experience of Earth. This was, after all, technically his first outing. (And besides, _he_ probably didn’t look any better with that big bruise on his cheek.)

The library wasn’t all that big, with only one floor packed full of old books. Spock stays by Jim’s side as they move around the building, despite his obvious desire to explore like he had done in the house. Jim half wants to tell him to go for it, but that would probably make too big of a scene with Jim following him around and attempting to explain everything.

Instead, Jim grabs a few books from the kid’s section about writing, one about astronomy, and one about the basics of chemistry. Then, he stops and thinks of something else. He makes a side trip to the travel section and glances around the shelves for an atlas. He finds one that is about seven years outdated, but it wasn’t like Spock was going care about the most updated map of a new planet.

Leading Spock to the back of the library, Jim ducks inside a little study room and drops the books on the table inside. Sitting in one of the chairs and gesturing for Spock to do the same, Jim flips open the atlas and pushes it across the table. Spock’s eyes dart across the pages, recognition slowly forming on his face.

Jim points at it and says, “These are the other bodies of land here. This is a whole book of maps. Like charts and descriptions of the different areas people live in.” Spock glances back up at him. Jim repeats, “Map.”

But instead of mimicking Jim’s word, Spock says in the same tone, “ _Besan_.”

Jim blinks, then does his best to repeat it. “Uh… _Besan_?” Jim’s lips feel clumsy around the foreign syllables. Spock’s eyes light up and Jim grins. He must have said it right.

Apparently pleased, Spock extends his index and middle fingers across the table in that same gesture he used in the bathroom. Jim looks down at his fingers and warily thinks of how Spock knocked him down earlier for touching his hands. Even though there was a table separating them, Jim had no doubt that Spock could leap over it and kick his ass. But Spock looked expectant, and clearly, he wanted Jim to respond.

Gradually, Jim extends his two fingers in the same gesture and presses them to Spock’s. There is a small electrical current that lasts barely a second before Spock pulls away and turns back to the books.

Jim already misses the feeling of Spock’s skin pressed against his own. He shakes off the feeling and busies himself in pulling out the notebook pages Spock had written on earlier out of his bag, spreading them on the table.

Soon they are pouring over the books together, and if Spock touches Jim’s fingers in that weird little way a few more times, Jim doesn’t mind. He’s starting to feel a small thrill at it. He wonders in the back of his mind if he could somehow start kissing Spock as nonchalantly. But then again, if Jim starts kissing Spock, he’s not entirely sure if he could stop.

And wouldn’t _that_ be a great way to freak the alien out. Spock would probably think Jim was trying to suffocate him.

They stay in the library until it closes and the little librarian comes to kick them out of the study room. She gives Spock the same odd glance she did earlier, but this time Jim ignores it. He’s already planning on stopping by the store to pick up more notebooks on the way home. Or maybe they could do that tomorrow and show Spock a little more around town.

Spock learns fast, just like Jim knew he would, and had started to pick up on little words here and there. And while Jim isn’t sure if Spock actually knows what a cat is, he can write the word and seems to understand that it’s an animal.

After stopping to pick up some more notebooks at the convince store, they make it back home just before it gets dark. Jim considers making food, but Spock is already sitting cross-legged on the floor and pulling out the new notebooks.

“Do you ever stop?” Jim asks, smiling fondly. “You must really want to tell me something.”

Spock doesn’t respond, instead going right back to working on his writing. Jim sighs, not feeling up for another teaching session after they literally just spend all afternoon doing so. Walking around him, Jim throws himself on the couch and grabs the TV remote.

Spock glances up when the screen lights up, highlighting some kind of news story about the refugees from the last world war. Wincing, Jim quickly changes the channel. He doesn’t need to know about that, and he definitely doesn’t want Spock’s perception of Earth being swayed by _politics_ , of all things.

“Is this bothering you?” Jim asks. “I can—”

But Spock drops the notebooks he was holding and moves over to sit on the couch next to Jim. So, Jim guesses, it’s okay.

The movie that is playing is from the early 21st century. Jim has no idea what it’s called, and he almost doesn’t want to know. The characters start to sing and dance around on screen, so it’s a musical—a horribly directed one at that. Jim wants to change the channel to find something different, but isn’t sure if he can find something _better_ because of the small amount of channels they get. His mom always wanted him to be working on the farm rather than sitting inside and “rotting his brain,” so she never paid the extra money. But Spock seems interested in the show, so Jim doesn’t fuss.

Though he is sitting with a straight back, he looks more relaxed. His attention is set on the screen, not once looking away. Jim can’t even see him blinking.

It isn’t long before Jim realizes that the musical is a romantic one. The two main characters are from different cultures and are apparently forbidden to be together by their families. It’s sort of a cliché plot, considering the circumstances they were in.

(Well. The different cultures part, at least.)

But it’s not like Spock would know that. His eyes are still glued to the screen, and occasionally his head tilts to the side when the characters do something that must confuse him.

When the characters go to a scene at a dance hall, Spock says something and turns to Jim, looking at him expectantly.

“Um, yeah,” Jim says, having no idea what Spock asked but going off his instinct. “That’s called dancing. I guess you don’t have that where you’re from either?”

Spock repeats whatever he said, giving Jim an intentional look. Jim catches on and flushes. “What, you want me to show you?”

His dancing skills have never been great. A few years ago at his school’s semi-formal he stepped on a girl’s feet so much she had to go to the hospital because he broke her toe. “Ah, I don’t know, Spock. I suck at it.”

Spock’s gaze doesn’t waver and Jim gives in. “Fine,” he mutters, standing. “I guess I owe you one for making you ride on a motorcycle today.”

Jim can still feel the heat on his face, but he turns away from Spock and moves out of the way of the couch. Onscreen, the two characters are waltzing. Jim has never waltzed before except that one time at Sam’s wedding, so he doesn’t feel very confident as he awkwardly mimics what the two characters are doing onscreen.

“You can’t really do it alone,” Jim tells Spock a bit lamely, dropping his arms which were previously holding nothing. Spock’s eyebrows pull together as he turns back to the screen. Jim lets out a breath and moves to go back to the couch, but his eyebrows shoot up when Spock stands.

“Wait—you want to—I mean, yeah, sure.”

Spock moves over to him, standing directly in front of him as if waiting for instruction. Which—duh, he is. Jim shakes his head and clears his throat, trying to ignore how his heart was starting to pick up speed.

“So, your hand goes here,” Jim says, moving Spock’s hand around his waist, “and the other goes up in mine, like this. And my other hand goes on your shoulder, and then we just kind of”—Jim’s eyes lock with Spock’s and he swallows—“sway.”

At first, it’s only Jim moving, which was to be expected. But Spock looks down and watches Jim’s feet, and soon he’s following the motions. Jim controls their movement, not really letting them shift except for a few paces from side to side, but it feels as if they’re traveling to another dimension. He feels lightheaded, reveling in the press of Spock’s body against his own as they move in gentle steps.

Up close like this, Jim notices little green spots which dot across Spock’s nose and cheeks that weren’t there before. His skin must be freckling from his time spent under Earth’s sun. It’s _cute_.

Heat rises under his collar. He doesn’t need to be thinking about how attractive Spock is when he’s literally dancing in Jim’s arms.

Unfortunately, the fates did not want to play nice. Spock stops moving abruptly, and Jim is confused for a second before he realizes Spock is still watching the movie. Turning to watch as well, Jim nearly swallows his tongue when he sees the two characters onscreen kissing.

Spock’s eyebrows raise as he watches the scene unfold. The music reaches a crescendo before another character pulls the two romantic leads apart. At that point, Spock turns back to Jim with that same expectant look.

Jim feels his face _burn_.

“Th-that’s kissing,” Jim tells him, his voice an octave higher. “You want me to—to kiss you?”

In response, Spock tilts his chin forward slightly and closes his eyes, mimicking what the characters did onscreen. Jim swallows thickly, his palms feeling hot from where they are still holding Spock’s. Spock looks so innocent and trusting he nearly groans.

Sucking in a breath, Jim steadies himself. It’s just a kiss. _It’s just a kiss_. He can do this. He’s been imagining this moment for the past few days; he should be eager! And it’s not like Spock understands the romanticism behind the gesture, right?

Right.

Jim leans forward, holding on tight to Spock’s shoulder, and gently presses his lips against Spock’s.

It only lasts a few seconds before Jim pulls away. Spock opens his eyes. Jim notices the tips of his ears are tinged green. Jim feels something pass between them—a deep pull in his chest that causes his skin to break out in goosebumps.

He’s not entirely sure where it came from. It didn’t feel like it was from Spock or from him, but somehow from _both_ of them, being together. Jim can tell Spock felt it too by the way his eyes droop slightly in a daze.

For a few seconds, they just stand there, staring at each other. Eventually, Jim drops his hand from Spock’s shoulder and drags himself back to the couch. Spock follows him, just like Jim knew he would.

This time, they sit closer to each other. Jim does his best not to cling to Spock, even though all he wants to do it curl up and never move again. But Spock lays his hand on top of Jim’s, the sides of their bodies pressing.

The movie keeps playing, but Jim’s eyelids become heavier and heavier, until they finally fall closed for the night. Jim falls asleep feeling warm and happier than he has felt in a long, long time.

~*~

Spock feels the moment Jim falls asleep. Their hands are still touching, and the skin contact allows Spock to know that prior to his rest, Jim felt content.

 _Spock_ felt content. He still does. This emotion was intense, stronger than anything he had experienced thus far. The more Spock tried to control it and push it down, the more Jim seemed to make it more resolute. It was frustrating, but in the most addictive way—how could such a creature make all of his training falter like this? Spock didn’t understand in the slightest.

The play they had been watching on the projector-like screen ends. Jim is still asleep. Spock glances down at him and feels another odd surge of affection.

Was _this_ why his father had taken a second mate? Because of this feeling, this flame that only seemed to burn hotter and hotter no matter the challenge? Sybok had named it once in passing…

Ah, yes: love.

Spock’s eyes soften as he takes every inch of Jim’s face in the dim light, wanting to categorize every inch into memory. He didn’t know how long he would be stuck on this planet or if he would ever get back to Vulcan again. It was completely illogical to think of staying on this foreign planet forever, but Spock finds that he wants nothing more.

This emotion of love was strong, powerful enough to strip him of his logic and leave him with nothing but raw _feeling_. While weeks ago the concept would have stricken fear into him, he discovers he wants to try this new experience on his own and take the chance he normally would resist.

Jim is resting. Spock should move and go to work on his writing. But instead, he finds himself making an emotional decision, deciding to stay on the furniture next to Jim. He breathes Jim’s scent, revels in the soft pulsing of Jim’s mind, and closes his eyes to rest.

He can work on his translating in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Love Like You plays aggressively in the background**
> 
> Thanks for reading! You guys rock, I cry a little in happiness every time I get a comment. (Also, I'm already like half way done with the sequel to this story. What is my life.)


	7. Chapter 7

When Jim wakes up, he’s hot, practically to the point of sweating buckets. He’s also pressed up against something too soft to be the couch. Peeling his eyes open, Jim realizes he is pressed against a certain alien’s chest.

And he’s drooling.

Jim shoots up, shoving his hands on Spock’s chest in order to untangle himself. Their legs are still touching, Jim’s back is to Spock’s front, and he almost doesn’t want to take the effort to separate them. Glancing down, a warmth spreads across Jim’s skin when he notices how bleary-eyed Spock is. Maybe he just woke up, too.

That means they slept together. As in, literal sleep, not the typical _fall-asleep-after-awkward-fucking_ kind that Jim typically experiences.

Holy shit.

“Uh,” Jim stutters, instantly turning away because he doesn’t trust himself not to lean down and kiss Spock so hard he sees stars from an entirely new galaxy. “Good morning.”

Then he remembers they _had_ kissed last night, and his morning gets a little bit better.

He looks over, and Spock still is getting used to the idea of being awake. His bangs are messy across his forehead, his lips are parted slightly and his shirt— _Jim’s_ shirt—is hanging lose so that part of Spock’s shoulder is exposed. His skin looks so smooth and his face is soft in the morning light, and if Jim were a stronger man he would have enough self-control not to openly stare.

Jim isn’t feeling particularly strong willed right now.

Spock’s lips twinge up at the sight how flustered he is, and it sends Jim’s blood flowing an entirely different direction.

“ _Oo_ kay,” Jim says, his voice wavering as he stands to avoid further contact that might get him in trouble. He clears his throat. He can’t grope the alien. _He can’t grope the alien._ “A-are you hungry?” he asks. “We could try cereal this time.”

It’s almost like Spock can sense Jim’s embarrassment. His eyes are smoldering when he raises a pointed eyebrow, looking more and more like he’s teasing Jim on purpose. Jim blushes, feeling very much like a child when he snaps, “Okay, I know you’re screwing with me.”

Spock still looks a bit too proud for Jim’s taste. Jim shrugs, casually moving back over to the couch. “Fine,” he says nonchalantly, grabbing a throw pillow. “Try and be all high and mighty when you have a _pillow in your face!_ ”

Jim chucks the pillow at Spock, who was clearly not expecting an attack. He rears back after the pillow hits him in the face, making an expression so ridiculous Jim bursts into laughter. Spock pulls the pillow to his chest and frowns, as if not comprehending why Jim would suddenly attack him.

Clutching at his sides, Jim wheezes, “I guess pillow fights don’t transfer across galaxies.”

But instead of responding like he expected, Spock suddenly sits straight up, posture tense. His face is carefully blank, and for a second Jim thinks he might have accidentally offended Spock.

“Shit, did I—Spock?”

Spock isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at the door, his head slightly inclined to the right.

Almost like he’s listening.

Jim tilts his head and tries to listen too, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. That is, until the house’s front door gets kicked down and a huge gun gets thrown in his face.

Jim yelps, falling backward on the couch as his heart jumps into his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock leaps to his feet and barks something in that vowel-y language of his. There is a moment where the only noise in the room is the sound of Jim’s frantic breath, then a second figure moves into the room.

It’s then that the figure moves into the light in a way that allows Jim to see that makes his head swim: the intruders are aliens. Ones that look just like Spock.

~*~

“Drop your phaser,” Spock repeats, irritated that the guard he recognizes as Stonn isn’t listening. Stonn is one of his father’s personal guards, and sure enough, Sarek soon strides through entryway, carefully stepping over the door that Stonn knocked down.

“Spock,” Sarek says, approaching him. “You are unharmed.”

“Yes,” Spock agrees, his eyes darting from his father to Stonn. “And I was in no danger. Thus, the phaser unnecessary.” He tries not to let his frustration bleed into his tone as he glares at Stonn. Stonn glances over Sarek. Sarek nods.

“Yes, my Lord,” Stonn recites quietly, lowering the weapon. He still stands at attention, very much the image of a solider.

Spock’s shoulders relax slightly. He still must deal with the fact that his father is here, but now at least Jim hopefully won’t get stunned. He should be relieved, but instead anxiety tugs at his mind for an unknown reason. Hoping to relieve this tension, he asks the first question that comes to mind. “How did you find me?”

“I learned of your excursion when I returned from my mission,” Sarek says. His voice is strikingly flat compared to how emotional Jim’s is. It hits Spock like a physical blow. “Sybok explained the attack, and we soon sent out a search mission when you had not returned in the appropriate timeframe. We were able to locate the final echoes of your shuttle’s computer system before it was destroyed.”

Sarek steps closer, his eyebrows pulling together in disapproval. “I would have expected an action so reckless from Sybok, but not from you, Spock. I hold higher regards for you.”

Spock fights a flush of shame from rising to his cheeks. He looks away, lowering his head. “I apologize, Father. None of this was my intention.”

Sarek seems to consider this, then nods once. “Very well. Let us return home and put this negligent affair behind us.”

Spock’s head snaps back up, fear striking through him like a hot viper.

“Leave?” Spock repeats. Sarek turns back around, his lips pulling down in a frown.

“The species on this planet are not yet intelligent enough for an official contact of an interstellar origin,” Sarek explains. “Every instance of you being here has been nothing more than an unfortunate fluke. We must return to Vulcan and not meddle with this environment further.”

“The lifeforms on this planet are intelligent,” Spock counters, feeling desperate to prove this fact. “I was rescued by a member of this planet’s race. It is because of him that I am alive.”

As if noticing he was there for the first time, Sarek’s eyes trail behind Spock to Jim. Spock feels another wave of nervousness wash over him, but quickly shoves it down.

“This is the creature that saved you?” Sarek asks, his eyes still on Jim. Spock turns to look at him too. Jim’s face is pale and he seems to be shrinking into the furniture.

Then, to his utter shock, Jim raises a shaking hand and offers the _ta’al_. Spock’s lips quirk up as pride rises in his chest.

Sarek seems shocked as well. “Your influence is clearly noted,” Sarek admits, his eyebrows raising. “However, spending extensive time with one member of a new species is not enough to make diplomatic agreements with an entire planet.”

Spock clenches his jaw. “They are in construction of a warp engine,” he says quickly. “I have seen their plans. They are intelligent enough to sustain a contact.”

Sarek turns back to Spock. His eyes are stern now, hard and unrelenting. “Spock. You are familiar with the rules of intergalactic fellowship. The lifeforms of this planet have not yet admitted they are ready, and until that moment, we are not allowed to interfere. We _must_ leave.”

Spock lets out a sharp breath though his nose. He knew he was supposed to listen. He knew he was supposed to obey, to follow the logic his father was presenting. While it makes sense in his head, it didn’t make sense in his heart.

“No.”

Sarek’s eyes narrow. Without breaking eye contact, he tosses a command over his shoulder to Stonn. “Leave us.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Stonn murmurs, stepping back over the fallen door and moving outside.

Now only Spock, Sarek, and Jim are left in the room. Spock feels his body go cold.

Sarek looks Spock up and down once. Spock can only imagine how he looks in Jim’s clothing, which was anything but proper. He supposes he looks almost feral.

“This world has poisoned your logic,” Sarek announces. “It is not your fault; you are young and have been through many unbecoming scenarios. However, this does not make you any less my son. You must return to Vulcan regardless of what you may wish.”

“Father—” Spock tries, sounding desperate, but Sarek shakes his head.

“You know the rules, Spock. We do not belong to this world. We are not to interfere.”

Spock feels his throat constrict. Those were the rules and he knew them well, but they had never made any less sense.

“What has caused this emotion to break through?” Sarek wonders. “Your shields have always been strong and your logic sound. What change have you undergone?”

Spock finds he cannot answer. He doesn’t know how he can possibly explain the intense feelings he holds for Jim in a simplified form.

Instead, he turns to look at Jim. His eyes are wide and still confused, but the way he looks at Spock with such concern and affection makes Spock’s heart constrict.

“He is my…friend,” Spock answers hollowly. Sarek seems to catch the underlying meaning, because he nods once.

“Then I will leave you to say a parting formality.”

Sarek offers the _ta’al_ to Jim, then steps outside the house. Spock finds his knees will no longer hold his weight and he collapses to the floor.

Jim is over to him in a flash, speaking quickly and touching Spock’s shoulders, but he only shakes his head. He just wants to sit like this, with Jim’s arms around him, forever. He doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to have this feeling end. Raw emotion bubbles up in Spock’s chest, and it releases itself in a sob that rips through his throat.

Jim freezes. “Spock?” he asks, but Spock shakes his head again.

He was a fool. He should have known better than to allow himself the freedom to get caught up in something like this. His very existence—his culture—was built on logic, not feeling. His father was right; he was weak, he needed to return to Vulcan.

But leaving Jim _hurt_.

He leans forward and grabs Jim’s face between his hands, cataloging every line and freckle to memory—the plushness of his lips, the tone of his skin, the natural fluffiness of his yellow hair. Finally, his eyes lock on Jim’s blue ones, and Spock lets out a shuddering breath.

He aligns his fingers to Jim’s melding points and projects all the intense affection, love, and happiness Jim has given him, intermingling with the sorrow he now faces. He offers instead peace, pushing the hope that Jim will find tranquility in his absence. He presses his forehead to Jim’s and whispers thickly, “I cherish thee, Jim.”

Then, he breaks the meld. Jim’s chest rises and falls rapidly and his eyes glisten with emotion. “Spock—" he starts to say, reaching forward, but Spock quickly preforms the _to’tsu’k’hy_ before Jim can do anything further.

Spock moves away from Jim’s slumped form. He heaves in a few breaths, then shakily raises his mental shields. He is Vulcan. He is in control of his emotions.

Spock steps through the threshold and rights the front door on its hinges as he passes. He doesn’t allow himself to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm literally so happy all of you are enjoying this as much as I am! (Though maybe not this chapter. Lol.) Thank you!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost done!! Wow, what can I say. All of you are awesome. But, of course, don't let me keep you from reading any longer!

When Jim wakes up, Spock is gone. It was as if he just vanished—there was no trace of him leaving. Jim’s not exactly sure what happened. Whenever he tries to put the pieces together, he gets a headache. It’s as if bits of his memory are missing, like someone had tried to erase his mind but did a shitty job of it. All he can remember is those aliens coming in, Spock falling to the floor and then…kissing him? Or…wanting to kiss him? Jim isn’t sure. Around there is where it gets fuzzy.

Spock did something. Or, at least something _happened_. Something that made Spock leave. But Jim has no idea why, or for how long. A cold trickle runs down his spine as he starts to realize he might never see Spock again.

And as much as Jim doesn’t want to believe that, it was inevitable. Spock was an alien from outer space—of _course_ he had to go back to his home planet at some point. He couldn’t be expected to stay on Earth forever.

Spock wasn’t a creature that belonged here. Jim _knows_ that. He just…wishes it was different.

Still, he tells himself not to give up completely. If Spock got here once—even on accident—then surely he can figure out a way to come back. For the first few days, Jim’s anticipation is high. He goes about in a constant state of anxiety, afraid to leave the house in case Spock returns looking for him. He can barely sleep, and only eats whenever his hunger physically impedes him from doing anything else. At any sound outside Jim is jumping up out the door, expecting Spock to be on the porch stairs waiting for Jim to let him in, but he comes back with disappointment twisting in his gut every time.

After about three days, he’s forced to leave the house to buy groceries. When he comes back, there is no sign of any extraterrestrial visitors. And one week later, there’s still nothing.

Around week three does Jim start to give up hope. He feels like he was betrayed, somehow, which is completely irrational. Spock made him feel like no one else had—like he was actually important and did something right for once instead of being just a backwater fuckup—and for him to leave, just like literally _everyone else_ who had ever cared about him, was just unfair.

Jim tries hard not to dwell on that. He turns into a bawling mess whenever those kinds of ugly thoughts get into his head, and he can’t think like that when he’s alone.

The university in San Francisco he applied to accepted him. They said in their letter that they were very impressed by his test scores and were anticipating having him study with them. Gave him a full ride, too. Jim wishes he could feel happier about it—but all he wants to do is talk to Spock about it. Which is _crazy_ , because technically he and Spock didn’t even speak the same language.

But after that, a cold kind of resolve settles in Jim’s chest. His life was moving on, taking him out of Iowa and into the world beyond. His dreams were coming true—it was time he started to act like it.

Jim spends the next few days packing up school supplies. The busyness gives him something to focus on and keeps his mind from trailing off to think of pale skin and pointed ears.

One day, his mom calls and tells him her engineering team is about to have a breakthrough on the _Phoenix_ project.

“It’ll be on the news, for sure,” she tells him excitedly. “You should watch what your old ma does for you.”

Jim smiles softly. “Yeah,” he says, not really in the mood for a witty rebuttal. He’s apparently more obvious about his feelings than he thought, because she notices his tone.

“Jimmy, baby, what’s wrong?” she asks. “Did something happen?”

Jim wants to laugh. How the hell was he supposed to explain to his mom that he met an alien? And how he’s pretty sure he fell in love with that alien?

Instead, he lets out a breath and says, “I’m just sad I’m leaving Riverside is all.” It’s the worst fucking lie, but at least she buys it.

“Oh baby, don’t be!” Winona assures him. “You’re gonna blow all those swanky California kids out of the water. And the second I’m done with this project I’m going to come out to help you move in.”

“You don’t have to. Frank said he’d help.” Another complete lie, but his mom doesn’t need to know Frank has been AWOL pretty much the whole summer. It would only cause her more stress that she didn’t need.

Besides, Jim can handle moving in on his own. He taught an alien how to ride a motorcycle for fuck’s sake. How hard could college be?

~*~

Spock tries to go back into his routine.

He’s finding it very difficult. Upon his return to Vulcan, Spock was immediately greeted by Sybok, who was practically in a fervor.

“What happened? Did you get captured by the species on that planet? Did they hurt you?” his brother asks, but Spock finds he cannot speak. There is no way he can explain this. No way to even begin to speak of what he has experienced, what he has felt, and, he remembers with a sharp pain, what he can never return to.

Spock confines himself to his chambers, refusing to come out except to share in meals, which he is required to do per his father’s instruction. They are eaten in silence; Sarek upholding order, Sybok desperate for any kind of information, and Spock refusing to provide it.

He feels…strange. Out of place. The walls of the palace he had once called home are now foreign to him. There was no familiarity is his routine, no logic in following any of the rules he previously held as absolute. Spock realizes this is too large of a break in his mental shields, and focuses most of his time on meditation.

At least, he _tries_ to meditate. All he can see whenever he closes his eyes is a stunningly blue pair staring right back at him. It makes his throat tighten and no matter how Spock tries to fight the emotion, it always ends up swelling and crashing over him.

It makes him feel…hollow. Like there is a piece of his mind that is missing, a bleak hole within him that he is now hyper-aware of. It causes his temples to throb.

One day, Spock is torn from his light meditation at the sound of hissing voices. Sybok found out, it seems. What is wrong with him, why he is acting so oddly. Spock doesn’t want to know _how_ —he could only imagine the kind of rumors being spread about the bastard prince and his affiliation with a primitive race.

“You must return him,” he hears Sybok urge. “Can you not see how being away from that creature hurts him?”

Spock nearly winces at Jim being called _that creature_ , but Sybok is not to blame. Spock keeps his eyes shut and wills for his peace of mind to return, but becomes more interested in eavesdropping.

“That planet is primitive,” Sarek’s voice is quick and sharp. “Spock knows this, and I expect you to know this as well.”

“He was not affecting the rest of their culture! They would not have known any different if the ship had not crashed.”

“They would not have known any different if _you_ had not been meddling in the affairs of the Romulans,” Sarek snaps.

Spock had not thought about the kind of retribution Sybok must be facing for stealing a starship and getting caught in a firefight. It must be severe for their father to lose his temper so quickly.

The entire House of Surak, falling to pieces. How illogical.

“An event which was out of my control,” Sybok replies just as fierce. “The gods drew Spock to that planet for a reason.” His voice turns desperate. “Allow me to go back to that system and bring that being here. It would make Spock happier—”

A sharp sound rings out and Spock cringes, his eyes opening. “Vulcans do not feel _happy_ ,” Sarek practically hisses. “You are forbidden to leave the palace and will never speak of this matter again.”

A beat, then Sybok spats, “ _Yes_ , my _Lord_.”

Spock hears the light footfalls of his father fall away, followed a moment after by the heavy ones of his brother. He wants to do something, but knows that once their father has dropped a matter, bringing it up again was most unwise. Instead, he clenches his eyes shut, curls his knees up and wills the ache in his chest to subside.

It doesn’t.

At dinner that night, Spock notices a welt on his brother’s cheek but says nothing. Sybok glares down at the table, not once touching his plate. Spock doesn’t eat either. Their father carries on as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

In the evening, Spock wanders out to the gardens. He finds himself shocked at how red the fauna is. Though green is not the only color he longs to see. He feels a stinging in his chest, so he sucks in a breath and shakily tries to raise his shields where they have fallen.

But the sunset wasn’t the same either, and Spock steps back inside.

A few nights later, there is a knock at his door. Spock sits up on his bed, realizing then he has been staring at the ceiling when he was supposed to be studying. It’s not the first time he has lost track of time. Before he can call permission for the person to enter, Sybok steps in.

Not that Spock would have stopped him. He didn’t have the energy.

Sybok says nothing as he walks over to Spock’s bed. He sits on the edge next to Spock, keeping the distance between their bodies pronounced. Spock briefly thinks of how Jim would have pressed their bodies together and immediately regrets it.

For a while, neither of them speak. They simply occupy the same space, the silence heavy. Then, Sybok exhales sharply.

“I apologize, little brother.”

Spock frowns. “For what?”

“I urged you to venture out when you were clearly not ready,” Sybok says, then his lips quirk up bitterly. “They say I kidnapped you. I was planning on using my pre-reformed ways to make a pact with the Romulans.”

Spock blinks, shocked. “But that is not what happened at all!”

“I know and you know,” Sybok sighs, “but the council of Father’s peers see something different.”

“You told them the truth?” Spock inquires. “That we were the ones attacked?”

Sybok nods once. “It hardly matters. The council has been looking for a reason to banish me for many cycles.”

The severity of the situation hits Spock all at once, and he feels what little mental shielding he had rebuilt crumble under the stress of a cold panic. He has already been parted from Jim—he couldn’t lose Sybok too.

“Spock,” Sybok says softly, cutting through Spock’s anxiety with ease. “What happened?”

Spock shakes his head, already knowing what Sybok was referring to. He owed it to Sybok to speak about it—it had been long enough—but he can barely come to terms with it himself. “I felt…an affection stronger than I have ever experienced. I had no previous notion that an emotion could be so powerful. It…” Spock struggles to find the right words, and Sybok gives him the space to think. “It stripped me of my logic. Of everything. I could only _feel_. Even now, my shields are failing me. I cannot continue like this. I do not wish to.”

Sybok looks at him, his eyes holding a mix of happiness and sorrow. “You experienced love, little one. But it will pass, and you will regain your logic.”

“No,” Spock says, and suddenly he realizes what the issue had been. Why he cannot meditate, why his studies no longer interest him, why nothing looks or tastes the same. All of it abruptly becomes very clear. “I experienced affection for my _t’hy’la_.”

Speaking the words out loud gives the thought validity. Spock’s skin prickles with the same kind of electricity he felt when he and Jim kissed. _Yes_. It felt right.

Sybok’s eyebrows shoot up. “Spock!”

“ _I know_ ,” Spock says, feeling his face flush and closing his eyes. “I am aware of how improbable it seems, but there is no other valid explanation. I must have bonded with Jim when he rescued me from the wreck of the shuttle. It grew stronger during the duration of my presence with him without me knowing, and now I—” Spock stops, cutting himself off before he can say _I long to be with him_.

There is a silence, and Spock dares to open his eyes. Sybok’s expression is strange, holding an emotion Spock does not recognize.

“If you truly believe you have found your _t’hy’la_ , you will return to him,” Sybok assures him. “Perhaps not now, but in the future. If the gods brought you together, they will not keep you apart for long.”

Spock wants to point out that most of Vulcan didn’t believe in the old gods like Sybok did, but something _did_ pull he and Jim together. Something larger, grander than himself. And by fate or higher power, Spock knew he would return to Jim. They would be together again one day. He felt it in his soul.


	9. Chapter 9

It’s the Friday before he’s set to leave, and Jim runs into town for some last-minute stationary supplies. As he passes a diner with wide windows, something catches his eye that nearly makes him fall off his bike. Quickly swerving to the side of the road, Jim doesn’t even turn off the engine as he hops off the motorcycle and runs into the restaurant, his eyes locked on the TV screen broadcasting the news.

It isn’t showing a report about the _Phoenix_ project like his mom had predicted. Instead, it’s running a live report about a guy named Zefram Cochrane, and how earlier today he shook hands with an alien.

An alien with pale skin, pointed ears, and a stupid bowl cut.

Jim feels his heart leap into his throat. Then, he breaks out laughing.

 _They came back_. The Vulcans came back, and the news was saying it was because of some guy who invented a special kind of space-traveling engine. Tears start to form in Jim’s eyes. He probably looks like he’s crazy, but hey, fucking _aliens_ just made an official contact with Earth. There were probably a lot worse reactions to have than laughing hysterically.

He barely catches his breath before he runs back to his bike. He turns around and speeds back to the farm, somehow knowing what will be waiting for him.

Sure enough, there is a familiar prism-shaped spaceship in his yard. Only this time, it’s not on fire.

Jim throws down his bike and dashes up the porch steps. His heart is hammering in his chest and his hands are shaking as he opens the screen door. The lights in the living room are on. His eyes fall on a thin figure with regal looking Jedi-robes, sitting poised and perfect on the couch.

Spock’s face lights up. “Jim—” he starts to say, but Jim is already striding across the room, grabbing him by his high collar and mashing their lips together. God, this—he missed this. He missed _Spock_.

Jim forces himself to pull away, his eyes brimming with happy tears. “You came back.”

“I did,” Spock replies, his brown eyes just as warm as Jim remembers them.

Jim nearly falls back. “You can talk!” Spock quirks an amused eyebrow, and Jim continues hurriedly, “I mean, I—I already knew you could talk.” Jim wants to shut up but finds he can’t. “Just…not like this.”

“Your previous efforts to communicate with me were appreciated,” Spock says. His voice sounds a bit different, scratchier, like Jim was hearing it though a radio. “However, I find this method to be much easier.”

Spock raises one of his fingers and taps at a small computer-chip looking device that was attached to the collar of his robes. “This is a translator, constructed for interplanetary communication,” Spock explains. “We had to reconstruct a special one for Earth dialects. Your planet’s multiple languages held difficulties that none of us were expecting. It seems though you are ready for intergalactic contact, you cannot use a singular language to communicate with each other, a concept that is completely illogical.”

Jim can’t help but stare at the way Spock’s lips form words without complication. It’s _amazing_.

“Smartass,” Jim mutters, still grinning. “Guess that didn’t change, huh?”

“Indeed,” Spock replies, then says almost to himself, “Your vernacular still holds no context to me.”

Jim can’t help it. He laughs once, then leans forward and kisses Spock again. And again, and again.

~*~

“Wait, you’re a _prince?_ ”

Spock’s eyebrows draw together slightly and he purses his lips. “Prince is a term used to describe royalty. My family is one of nobility, not necessarily royalty, though my father may act as what you see as being a king. However, if it helps you understand my people’s governing system, then yes. I am a prince.”

Jim eyes the front door, remembering how easily it got knocked down. “And that guy who came after you. He’s your dad?”

“Correct.”

They are sitting on the floor of the living room, having collapsed onto the hardwood after a bit of an excited makeout session and Jim accidentally knocking Spock off the couch in his haste. Neither one wanted to get up—Jim was afraid if they moved it would break the translator’s spell and he wouldn’t be able to understand Spock anymore. Spock was simply content with staying near Jim.

Jim shakes his head. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t they let you stay? If you’re a prince, you’ve gotta be important, right? Doesn’t that hold some kind of sway, like, politically?” Spock’s eyes dart away.

“My upbringing was…” Spock struggles to find a word before settling on, “unique. My presence does not partially effect our culture. My brother has attempted to include me in most political areas, but it is not of particular interest to me. My father is…reserved.”

“Oh.” Jim doesn’t really know what any of that means, but he’d rather spend more time talking about other things that obviously don’t make Spock uncomfortable.

Spock notices his confusion and tries to clarify, going back to Jim’s original question. “My people follow a strict set of diplomatic rules. Despite my discoveries with you, Earth had not yet shown itself ready for highly intelligent life to make contact.” He pauses, then says, “That is, until your people flew a warp capable ship around your sector and caught the attention of a science vessel.”

“Did you have anything to do with that?” Jim asks, grinning. He already knows the answer.

“Yes,” Spock admits softly, looking down. “From what I had gathered, humans are particularly curious and eager to learn. I believed they will fit well with other societies we have alliances with. Whenever I could, I bribed a pilot to fly to this sector to anticipate the warp ship.”

Jim almost scoffs in disbelief. “But I was the only human you knew. How could you make a judgement like that for a whole planet?”

Spock’s eyes twinkle as he says, “I believe I have seen the best of humanity in you, Jim. I trusted that others would be as passionate as you when mingling with extra-terrestrial life.”

Blushing, Jim ducks his head. “Yeah, well. I didn’t know I was meeting a freaking _alien prince_ , otherwise I wouldda given you a better bath towel.”

Spock tilts his head, but the corners of his lips quirk up. He lifts his two fingers in that odd gesture he did before. Jim automatically returns it, pressing their fingers together and revealing in the small burst of electricity he feels at the contact. He missed that.

“Hey,” Jim says, remembering, “You can talk now. You can tell me what this means!”

To his surprise and delight, Spock’s cheeks tinge green. He keeps his fingers pressed to Jim’s when he answers. “It is a gesture of affection and trust, typically completed by _t’hy’la_ or one of great regard.”

“T-twoo-la?” Jim tries to repeat, knowing how badly he messed by the wrinkle of Spock’s nose. “That word didn’t translate. What does it mean?”

Spock’s face is full on flushed now, and he looks at Jim’s shoulder rather than his eyes. “There is no exact word that holds the same meaning outside of our culture. But roughly translated,” he says slowly, almost shyly, “it means friend, brother, and lover. Vulcans hold the ability to telepathically connect with other beings through skin contact, and our hands are particularly sensitive. I believe you would compare this gesture to your action of pressing lips.”

Jim smiles, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. “So it’s like kissing?” Then, he remembers that morning in the kitchen and his stomach drops. “Oh my God. When you cut your finger! I put your finger in my mouth. Shit, I’m so sorry! Was that like me French kissing you?”

Spock curls into Jim, ducking his face into Jim’s neck. Jim can see the green has now spread to his ears. “The feeling was quite strange,” Spock admits softly into Jim’s skin, “but not entirely unpleasant.”

And if _that_ didn’t go straight to Jim’s groin. Jim puffs weak laugh against Spock’s hair, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart.

“Well, uh,” Jim starts, “if you ever want to do more _investigating_ …”

He trails off, wondering if he’s overstepped a line. Spock is a prince, for fuck’s sake. He probably can have whatever kind of alien sex partners he wants. But somehow, Jim knows that isn’t the case. Spock seems too reserved for that kind of thing. And yet, he always let Jim kiss him whenever he felt inclined. So maybe…?

Spock lifts his head. There was a new expression in his eyes, something darker but not entirely dangerous that makes causes Jim’s stomach to flutter in anticipation. 

Shifting closer, Spock settles practically on top of his lap, long legs draping over Jim’s. Jim swallows, his mouth going dry at Spock’s proximity. This close, he can see Spock lost the little freckles he gained while on Earth. Jim almost misses them.

Spock lifts his hand to brush along the underside of Jim’s jaw. He moves his arm back up, reaching for those spots around Jim’s eye where he had touched before, but Jim catches his wrist before he can. Keeping his eyes locked on Spock’s chocolate ones, Jim brings Spock’s slender fingers to his lips and kisses the pads.

Spock shivers.

Jim feels like he’s on fire. He wasn’t sure if it’s because of Spock’s weird body temperature or just the fact that Spock is _Spock_ , but Jim wants to touch him _everywhere_.

Moving fast, he pushes down on Spock’s shoulders until he’s lying on the cool hardwood. Spock’s hair shifts across his forehead so it doesn’t lie perfectly anymore, which makes him look even cuter. Jim quickly covers his long body with his own and kisses him.

It comes as easy as breathing. Jim can’t believe he went almost half his life without being with Spock. He’s so perfect, fitting against his body just right. They bump noses as Jim changes the angles of the kiss, going deeper and tangling their tongues together. Spock wraps one of his hands around Jim’s bicep and around the back of his neck, keeping him close. His breath seems to stutter, and he makes a tiny noise that sends jolting heat straight to Jim’s cock.

Jim rips away, immediately realizing where this is going. Hell, he has Spock spread out and moaning under him. There’s no way he would be able to resist humping Spock into the ground if this went any further.

Spock seems confused by Jim’s interruption and determines, “You are displeased with me now.”

“No!” Jim assures him quickly. “No, no, oh my God. Spock, you’re the hottest alien I’ve ever met!”

“I am the only extra-terrestrial you have met,” Spock reminds him. “Besides my father, who broke through your entryway.”

“Yeah, besides your dad.” Jim laughs, bumping noses with Spock. “You’re adorable.”

“Then why have you ceased our osculation?”

Jim’s face twists. “Osculation? Jesus, you know English for like two minutes and you’re already making stuff up.” Spock doesn’t take the bait, quirking an eyebrow at Jim’s avoidance of the question.

Sighing in frustration, Jim rolls off Spock and sits up. “I just—I don’t want to push you into anything.”

Spock sits up and tilts his head. “You are not physically attacking me, Jim.”

 _Not yet_ , Jim wants to add. The thought makes him flush and he rubs the back of his neck. “Spock, it’s…after people kiss for a long time they…” Spock keeps staring, and Jim’s blush deepens. He stutters for a little longer before finally blurting out, “ _I don’t want to have sex with you if you don’t know what sex is!_ ”

Spock’s face turns _emerald_. “I understand the basics of reproduction!” he says sharply.

“Well, I didn’t know that!” Jim snaps back. “I didn’t want to accidentally molest you and you freak out and leave Earth and never come back!”

Instead of reacting more, Spock’s face softens. “Jim, I understand your desire to protect me, but I trust you.” He smiles gently. “I have put my trust in you since you first rescued me. I do not believe you would knowingly harm me in any aspect.”

Jim feels his chest swell, his face heating again. “Yeah, I bet you say that to all the guys who pull you outta spaceships.”

Spock’s mouth pulls into a thin line. “I have no desire to experience that again,” he says flatly.

“Me neither.”

The silence between them stretches for a moment, before Spock covers Jim’s hand with his own on the floor. “I never said I did not wish to engage in sexual relations with you.”

Jim’s stomach flips. “You’re okay with it?”

“I trust you,” Spock says again, lifting his shoulders slightly in a shrug. “I do not believe you would hurt me. You have favorable judgement.”

“Okay,” Jim says, suddenly feeling self-conscious and uncertain about _everything_. “Okay. Have you, uh, _engaged_ before?”

The tips of Spock’s ears turn a shade of olive, but he doesn’t break eye contact. “Vulcans do not typically engage in sexual acts outside of the mating season, which occurs every seven years. I, however, am too young to have experienced my Time.” He pauses, then asks, “Have you?”

Jim shrugs wistfully, looking down at their touching hands. “A couple times, with a couple partners, but…it’s never _meant_ anything. I mean, not like this. I…I don’t wanna screw it up.”

“Jim,” Spock says gently, weaving their fingers together, “ _you_ must trust in _me_ , for I do not believe you should hold yourself in such low regard. You have single handedly introduced me to this planet and culture. I believe you can continue to lead me through undiscovered terrain.”

Letting out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, Jim looks down at their hands again and wonders how the hell he got so lucky to have someone like Spock.  Then, he realizes he truly _wants_ Spock—like this, with him, at his side, for the rest of his life.

Before Jim can let that emotion bubble up and take over, he surges forward and mashes their lips together. Spock kisses him back, passionate and sweet. Jim clutches at him and doesn’t want to ever let go.

And then, he’s lost. It’s like he gets thrown into a frenzy; he runs his tongue along Spock’s bottom lip. He slips one hand into Spock’s thick hair and uses the other to play with Spock’s fingers, running his thumb across his knuckles. Spock gasps, and Jim moves away from his mouth and starts pressing heated kisses against the cool of Spock’s neck.

He shifts the hand in Spock’s hair to cradle the base of his skull as he slowly lowers Spock back down to the floor. Then, looking directly into Spock’s eyes, he says seriously, “If anything feels wrong, tell me, and I’ll stop.”

Spock only nods, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black. His cheeks are green and his lips are parted as he sucks in breath after breath. He looks so exotic, so pretty it _hurts_.

Jim places his knees on the outside of Spock’s hips and ducks back down to kiss his neck again. Experimentally, he grabs a section of flesh between his lips and sucks. Spock lets out a hiss by his ear, and Jim lets go, pleased to see a small green mark left behind.

Jim trails his kisses up, moving toward Spock’s ear. At the same time, he finds Spock’s fingers with his own and fiddles with them until their index and middle fingers line up in a Vulcan kiss. He feels the familiar electricity at the action, but now it seems to spread. Every inch of Jim’s body feels like it’s on fire, lighting up with an energy he needs to expel into Spock.

Jim can hear Spock’s breath start to stutter. He presses a kiss to the lobe of Spock’s ear, then drags his tongue up to the tip.

At that, Spock’s hips jerk up. Jim automatically grinds his down, feeling a similar bulge under Spock’s robes. Jim groans and sucks the tip of Spock’s ear into his mouth, grinding his hips down in a circular motion.

“ _Oh_ ,” Spock gasps. “ _Jim_.”

And that’s all it takes, really. Jim starts grinding down harder and faster, moving away from Spock’s neck to capture his mouth in a kiss. Spock tangles their fingers together, grasping at Jim like he’s the only thing that is keeping him from floating away, and Jim presses down further, wanting to mold their bodies together into one.

Spock untangles one of his hands and clumsily paws at Jim’s face. Jim breaks the kiss and Spock nearly pokes him in the eye, but then latches his fingers on to those special spots on Jim’s temple.

Suddenly, Jim _feels_ —the hard floor underneath him but the warmth of the being on top of him, how there were feelings being pulled out of him that were so strong and foreign but felt so _good_ , and this burn, a whirlwind inferno of affection and pleasure, more intense than anything he has ever experienced but it was raw and addicting and _Jim_ —

Jim’s orgasm rips out of him unexpectedly. He cries out and jerks back, breaking Spock’s connection. But then Spock is stiffening underneath him, moaning and arching up, and Spock is gone, too.

Waves of pleasure crash over Jim, each one stronger than the next, until it eventually subsides. He collapses, pressing his forehead against Spock’s collarbone. Jim feels the same kind of throbbing exhaustion he got when Spock did the telepathic thing the first time, now on top of post-orgasmic bliss. Spock weaves his fingers through Jim’s hair, and his skin breaks out in goosebumps.

“Sorry,” Jim pants, moving to get up.

“Your weight is negligible,” Spock replies, his voice soft and still a little breathy. Jim lifts his head to look at him, and if he didn’t know any better, it looks like Spock is smirking.

“Right,” Jim says, remembering. “You’re really strong.”

“ _Strong_ is a poor word to describe our biological differences,” Spock tells him as Jim shifts, rolling to lie next to Spock rather than directly on him. Spock doesn’t move his hand from Jim’s hair, keeping his head reclined on to his chest. “My planet has a much higher gravitational pull, so our bones are thicker in density. Physical strength has nothing to do with it.”

“But you’d totally kick my ass in arm wrestling is what you’re saying.”

“I do not know what an arm wrestling match is,” Spock replies, “but essentially, yes.”

 Jim huffs a laugh, curling up closer to him and tangling their legs together. “Brains and brawn. You’re the whole package, Spock.”

Spock only raises an eyebrow. Jim leans up and kisses him there, simply because he’s _allowed_ to now, before settling back down and pressing his ear to where Spock’s heart would be if he were human.

Silence stretches between them. Jim half wants to move to clean up the mess drying in his pants, but he doesn’t want to untangle himself from this bliss of being near Spock. In this position, he can hear the echoing thump of Spock’s heart through the cavities his chest. As Jim trails one of his hands down Spock’s side to feel the rapid beat, he is reminded once again how different he and Spock are, yet somehow eerily similar.

“Hey,” Jim murmurs eventually, not raising his head for fear of seeing the reaction to the question he was about to ask. “When do you have to…y’know…” He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to break the little bubble of happiness they are currently in, but he knows he has to. “Leave?”

Spock shifts, almost reflexively tightening his hold in Jim’s hair before relaxing again. “I do not.”

Jim props himself up on his elbows and frowns in disbelief down at him. “What d’you mean, you don’t?”

“Your planet has been deemed intelligent enough to make a treaty with,” Spock explains. “My father is in the process of building a diplomatic pact with your people, and having one of his sons live among the native creatures only extends the believability that humans are capable of working alongside Vulcans in harmony.”

“So you’re like a guinea pig?”

Spock frowns. “If you are asking if I am being used as an experiment, not necessarily. I am a prince who also happens to have extensive knowledge of this planet through experience. It is only logical for me to be one of the leaders in these relations.”

“Totally a guinea pig,” Jim tells him fondly.

Spock continues as if Jim had never interrupted. “It is also significant that you are my _t’hy’la_. My brother believed it would be considered a violation of our culture if I was kept from you any longer than necessary once we were able to contact this planet.”

“There’s that word again,” Jim says, frowning. “Why is that part of your culture so important?”

Spock’s ears tinge green and he looks away. “Jim,” he says slowly, “do humans believe in the concept of mating?”

Jim blinks. “You mean sex? Pretty sure we already established that as a yes, Spock.”

Spock shakes his head. “Mating in the sense of joining two individual’s minds and _katras_.”

“Oh,” Jim says, understanding. “Like marriage.” His throat suddenly feels very tight. “You’re not proposing, right? I’m seventeen, Spock—Ma would skin me alive if I tried to get married.”

“In my culture, Vulcans are chosen to have an arranged bond during childhood, one which is maintained until they experience their Time,” Spock explains, sitting up. “Until that point of sexual maturity, no other mate is considered unless you encounter your _t’hy’la_. That bond is incredibly powerful and rare, often dissolving the bond that had previously been arranged.” He pauses, then looks directly into Jim’s eyes as he says, “I believe such a bond was created between us when you rescued me from the shuttle.”

Jim’s blood rushes loudly in his ears. “Wait, so you think I’m like your soulmate or something?”

Spock’s shoulders lift slightly in a shrug. “I have never felt an emotional or spiritual connection to another being as strong as the one I have to you. There is no other logical explanation. I can never take nor will I desire another. Only you, Jim.”

Jim’s mouth hangs open. He feels stupid, like he needs to say something articulate but has no idea how to even begin to describe how it feels to have someone—no, not someone, _Spock_ —care about him like that. Evidently his silence is taken the wrong way, because Spock looks crestfallen.

“If you do not wish for me to follow you in such a manner, I will return—”

Jim finally gets his mouth working, shaking his head vigorously. “ _Nonono!_ Christ, Spock, if you even _think_ about leaving me again—”

“Then why did you—”

“No one has ever told me I’m their soulmate, okay?” Jim huffs, flushing. “It’s a lot for a guy to take in.”

Spock tilts his head. “Then you are not troubled by this concept?”

Jim almost laughs. “Are you kidding me? _You’re_ the one who should be troubled by having me as a mate. I screw up all the time, there’s no way I’m qualified enough to be the boyfriend of the prince of another planet.”

Spock’s lips purse. “Jim, I do not understand your continuous effort to bring up my political status. I find your personality and disposition quite unique and pleasing. Is that not enough to qualify a relationship?”

Jim smirks. “Why Mister Spock,” he says, pretending to fan himself. “Did you just call me hot?”

“Your body temperature has nothing to do with it,” Spock deadpans, but his lips quirk up at Jim’s antics. Jim smiles back, and offers Spock his index and middle fingers. Spock’s eyes soften as he presses their fingers together.

“I guess I should really be thanking your brother then, huh?” Jim asks. “When do I get to meet him?”

And if _that_ doesn’t draw an expression out of Spock. “At an unknown date,” Spock says, his mouth still twisted.

“What, is he that bad?”

There is clear uneasiness in Spock’s face when he answers. “Sybok is…different than I. I worry only for your delicate bone structure.”

Jim scoffs. “Oh c’mon, I have an older brother. There’s nothing I couldn’t handle. Besides, maybe he and your dad can come and visit us in San Francisco.” At Spock’s raised eyebrow, Jim elaborates. “It’s a larger city where I’m getting a higher education. I’m assuming you’ll be coming out with me.”

Spock nods. “Where you go, I will follow.” He leans forward and presses his forehead to Jim’s, reciting the same words he spoke just before he left. “ _Taluhk nash-veh k’dular_.”

And even though the words don’t translate, they send a warm feeling shooting through Jim’s veins, because he _knows_ what it means. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he returns, “I love you, too.”

They kiss, then Jim tears himself away. Standing, he offers one hand down to Spock to pull him up. “C’mon, we should get clean up. I’ve already ruined a few pairs of those robe things.”

“I can predict it will not be the last,” Spock tells him warily.

Jim throws back his head and laughs, pulling Spock closer and feeling more content then ever before. This, he knows, is the start of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! It's over! I literally cannot thank everyone enough for reading and leaving lovely comments and kudos. You guys bring me so much joy. ^^ I've got a few deleted scenes that never made it in to the fic, and am considering posting them to my [tumblr](http://aziraphalesbookkeeper.tumblr.com/) as well transferring this story over, but we'll see if that ever happens. The sequel will be up in a few days, but it's gotta go through a few rounds of editing first! ;) I love you all! Thanks for sticking with me and my little AU!


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